


The Empire

by leadernovaandthemacabre



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Ancient World AU, Assault, Beta Keith (Voltron), Bodyguard AU, Caribbean Colony influences, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, First Time, Heats, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Language Barrier, M/M, Mayan Empire influences, Mpreg, Multi, Non-traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Omega Lance (Voltron), Omegaverse, Oviposition, Past Adashi - Freeform, Platonic Kissing, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Polygamy, Polygamy Negotiations, Polyglot Lance, Post-apocalyptic AU, Racism, Roman Empire influences, Semi-Public Sex, Sexism, Shiro has PTSD, Sign Language, Slavery, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Sugar Daddy AU, a/b/o dynamics, alpha are at the bottom of the hierarchy, alpha are slaves, anyone can give bonding marks, background Narti x Ezor x Zethrid, brief sexual harrassment, clothes are not gendered, comfort and angst, deaf keith, dub con, hard of hearing Keith, it takes all three sexes to procreate, knives brought to gunfights, lactating males, lance has ADHD, no beta we die like men, omega are at the top of the hierarchy, politicking, ruts, strangers to friends-with-benefits to lovers, there is a LOT of talking, underground fighting rings, wherever Sendak is mentioned dub-con is featured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 138,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23298151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leadernovaandthemacabre/pseuds/leadernovaandthemacabre
Summary: Lance is a socialite and informant on the brink of terraforming Voltron’s new society. To that end, he wants to raise his perfect successor. His husband however is wary to start their new family, pussyfooting in his duty to find the right alpha to impregnate them. Tired of Keith’s hesitance, Lance buys an alpha himself.To the horror of everyone involved however, he’s purchased the bloodthirsty, ruthless, indomitable Champion…
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 465
Kudos: 520





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Lance’s name was kidnapped from one of RangeAteMyBaby’s shorts on Tumblr (with permission). This story was inspired by Metalotaku’s concept of A/B/O anatomy. I drew a [short comic](https://leadernovaandthemacabre.tumblr.com/post/613491297306673152/leadernovaandthemacabre-as-inspired-by-this) for it years ago (and am only now writing it). 
> 
> [Please read SuccubustyKisses' version of this story too!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415049)
> 
> I understand that there’s a difference between HoH and being d/Deaf. I tagged both for navigation purposes, and in the first chapter they’re conflated because Keith can’t be bothered to explain the difference.
> 
> Altea is the name of the empire. The empire is made up of city-states, urban settlements that are tied together by land- or sea-routes but are otherwise islands in a sea of wilderness. Voltron is the capital city-state of the Altean Empire.
> 
> In this world A/B/O is sex, not gender, that is, when I refer to someone’s sex I refer to their genital anatomy and not how they present. There are three sexes, and everyone has three biological parents of each sex. Alpha, in some cultures, are not expected to take responsibility for rearing their children.

Senator Sendak curled his salt-and-pepper mane behind one ear as he muttered, “And who is that?”

Haxus paused.

They were on a walkway that overlooked the training area for gladiators. Barely able to seat more than two hundred, twelve tiered cement seats circumvented a grounds of white sand where, today, dozens of alpha tossed one another around in flashes of oiled skin and tasseled loincloths.

Haxus pushed his dinky spectacles higher up his narrow beak nose. Sendak’s financial advisor seemed to be made of bird bones: he was thin and angular and his fingers curled like talons. He squinted. “Come again, m’lord?”

“He’s the lightest one there. Long black hair, bandages over his face—ah, he just flipped his competitor.”

Haxus referred to his tablet and swiped down for a tense six seconds. “He’s a new addition to the arena. To the city on a whole, in fact. A POW from the lands north-east.”

“Mm, the spoils of Ranveig’s ongoing campaign. King Alfor mentioned transforming it into Altea’s newest city-state, I think it better serves as a plantation.”

“There are still rebellions there. This one may have been one of them, displayed here to prove his people’s subjugation.”

The subject of their conversation threw to the ground a sparring partner twice his size. He scrambled to his feet and had them in a headlock a moment later, and wouldn’t let go until the invigilator whipped him.

“He hardly seems subjugated.”

Haxus side-eyed him and his interested tone. “M’lord, powerful as he may be, he’s a wild card. Not enough is known about him. Not his name, not his pedigree, nothing beyond his provenance. I actively discourage you from investing in him: he has only gone into the arena once, and left defaced.”

“But he left alive,” Sendak watched the alpha’s clean bandages. They hid his countenance entirely. “They say that if a gladiator can survive one match he can survive them all.”

“They _do_ say that,” Haxus replied without praise. “But those that do are rarely the ones _investing_ in gladiators.”

 _Whump!_ In a spray of sand another one of his contenders was thrown down. His back where he had been whipped was bleeding. He rolled his shoulder but otherwise didn’t react to it any more than the persistent itch of a mosquito bite.

Sendak wanted him. “If not that one, Haxus, then who would you recommend I sponsor?”

Haxus lit up. “Myzax, m’lord. He’s won dozens of battles against both man and beast and is very agreeable.”

“If he’s so agreeable why is he up for sale?”

“He terminated his last contract.”

“ _He_ did?”

“Bought his own freedom.”

“Who was his previous sponsor?”

Haxus looked. “Ranveig, m’lord.”

Sendak smiled a cruel smile. He said, “Haxus: purchase them both. Start obscenely high for Myzax but I want the nameless one for next to nothing.”

“Won’t be hard, he’s too new to be very desirable.”

When the invigilator approached again the alpha hissed, loud and violent, and the other keepers of peace left their posts to corral him in.

Sendak hummed.

-

When the stranger slipped into the abandoned church stinking of cologne to disguise a post-heat scent, the mercenaries crawled down the rafters.

He squeaked and fell. His skirts shimmered over his shins and his hood feel from his head. He watched the folk skitter down the sheer walls like oversized cockroaches. By the time he had gathered himself anew, he had an audience of thirty.

He cleared his throat. No-one moved. “I uh, assume there’s a leader under one of these masks?”

The sea parted for Kolivan. He was distinguishable from the rest only by his colossal form and weightless gait. He inclined his head but did not remove his mask. “Why are you here.”

In reply, the omega produced a knife from a hidden sheath. They recoiled. It was a beautiful serpentine blade with a handle wrapped in rare indigo leather. On its pommel glinted a solitary garnet.

The leader pretended to be unfazed. “How did you get that?”

“My grandfathers hid one of your families in their cellars during the lynching parties. As thanks they were given this dagger and told that if they ever needed help that that call would be answered.” His footing was unsteady. “I—I’ve come to ask for help.”

Kolivan inclined his head when murmurs sounded off behind him. His second came forward and whispered. He returned to their visitor silhouetted by the orange light of the broken doorway. “What is your name, little prince?”

“Lanceria de Leone,” he still had the knife outstretched, “fifth child of the House of Leone.”

“A high blood,” someone growled. Dissent reverberated through the crowd.

“I remember the story,” someone else said. He stepped to Kolivan’s elbow. “You were one of the infants of that family, Kolivan.”

Kolivan did not speak until his friends and family had silenced. He did not speak until Lanceria lowered the knife unsurely. He said, “What is your request?”

The boy’s eyes widened. His footing was unsure. How old was he? He looked too young to be smelling of latent heat. “You’ll help me?”

“We are honor bound.”

“Oh god,” his head dropped into one hand. His shoulders shook. “Thank the Ancients. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Krolia said. “We don’t know if we _can_ help you.”

“Well, the rumors—I mean, it’s true that you guys are assassins, right?”

Another dissenting tremor ran among them. Kolivan smoothed over, “We have killed on behalf of employers. Is that what you want?”

“No, I just want protection. I…I don’t have a lot of money and I hired a boat and crew that’s not exactly…uh. Yeah. I need someone to watch my back in case things go south.”

Kolivan’s eyes narrowed. It was Antok who said, “You talk of walking out of the frying pan into the fire, little prince. The Voltron Strait has been infested with brutal pirates for months. There’s no value in hiring boats…lest you’re looking for death.”

Lanceria shook his head. His drop earrings, two teardrops of blue, shimmered with the movement. “No no no, no. No. Trust me: no-one’s going to die.” His grin was too sure. “I have a plan to deal with those pirates. That’s the entire goal really.”

“You’re actively seeking them out?”

“Hence the small army. Also I need someone to watch my back in case the captain decides to gut me, throw me overboard and steal all my money.”

Kolivan almost sounded amused. “Why not rent another boat?”

“No-one else will go.”

“I wonder why.”

Annoyed, he crossed his arms and popped a hip. He looked older suddenly. “Look, will you help me or not?”

Kolivan turned to his right.

Krolia asked, “How much will you pay?”

“How much do you want?”

She stepped forward to barter. She was a powerful woman. “You’re asking us to risk our lives defending yours. That demands a deep pocket.”

“How deep?”

“Ninety.”

“Silver?”

“Mythril.”

“Shit lady! Did you forget that gold exists?!”

“Ninety gold then.”

Lanceria audibly gulped, trapped.

Kolivan murmured, “Have mercy on the boy.”

“I will not let him expect us to come to heel like a well-trained dog just because of a pledge our ancestors made.”

“The debt must be repaid.”

“But with _our blood?_ Enough of us have died serving his kind.”

“Our word is our law.”

“That law will be our undoing. Look at him, he expects us to do this for free.”

Lanceria blushed. “Of course not. Some now and the rest later.”

She glared, “You cannot put a price on life.”

The area was uncomfortably still for a moment.

Antok challenged, “Is gold all you have?”

“Shaking me down, huh? Lucky for you, no. But that depends on what you guys want. Like, do you _want_ to live on the edge of the city like this?”

There was neither movement nor rebuttal. Someone nameless and young piped up from behind. “It’s not like we have anywhere else to go.”

Lanceria side-eyed the peeling plaster, the repurposed pews, and the broken corners of roof where starlight trickled in. “For my debut I’ve been promised an apartment complex in the heart of the city. The deed to it can be yours.”

Krolia breathed—Kolivan put up his hand. The church stilled. He said, “The risk is too high, little prince.”

Lanceria jerked. “But. But the promise!”

“My people have not survived for as long as we have by gambling. In a best case scenario we may have luxurious accommodations, but what if you are lost at sea? We will have nothing. The odds do not favour either of us.”

Lance held out the knife again, furious tears wetting his lashes.

“Keep it,” Kolivan said. “And should you return, you may employ us for another endeavor.”

“This isn’t fair!”

Kolivan at last lifted his mask. Ivory hair tumbled over his broad nose and hollow cheeks. His wide chin was black in the shadow of his downturned lips. A cruel scar blinded his left eye. When he spoke it was with sincerity. “I am sorry, de Leone.”

And then, one by one, the human silhouettes that Lanceria had mistaken as shadows pooled into the dark corners of the church. When he registered that he was utterly alone, the sun had set.

He wandered down the hill to the city with lead in his heart and ice in his belly. The path here was well-worn but old and under maintained. Weeds splintered the stone and in some areas there was no stone altogether. He found himself slipping down inclines of soil. _Now what?_ he asked the dirt.

He pulled his shawl tight and his hood low. The land breezes were doing little for his mood right now. Not even Voltron, their capital city, nestled in the embrace of the curling mountains like a golden babe could lift his spiri—

There were footsteps.

Lanceria stopped, and they continued to advance. Was it a Marmora? Had they changed their mind? “Hello?”

The footsteps stopped.

Lance turned on his heel. “Yeah. _Nope._ Not doing that.” He resumed the trail.

The footsteps resumed.

“Fuck.” He ran.

He ran because for all that he couldn’t afford the Marmora he still was heavy with enough coin to kill a man’s liver. He ran because his heat had finished only that morning and he was still paranoid he’d get jumped.

He was a good runner. He was confident he could outlast! His sandal snapped.

Lanceria screamed and bounced down the hill. Dirt and gravel got into his nose and eyes and ears and teeth. He reared up, stalker forgotten, spitting and spluttering and shaking his robes loose of loam.

A hand brushed a leaf off his skirt.

Lance screamed and shirked back.

“Easy,” the stranger said quickly. Their hands floated white in the gloom. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m with the Marmora, I was sent to make sure you got home safe.”

“By Gregory! Then _say_ that! You’re responsible for my first three grey hairs and I’m going to make you pay. What is _with_ you people! Can’t you walk normally? And why didn’t you answer me when I called?” Lanceria stood before the cold soaked through his skirt to his ass. “Hello? Earth to creepy? Can you hear me?”

“No.”

“What?”

“You’re talking too fast.”

“I _SAID—”_

“I’m deaf.”

Lanceria backtracked. “Oh.”

Shuffling. “Mm.”

Lanceria squinted. All he could make out close shadows and far shadows, hints of human features. He angled his lips towards the starlight. “What’s your name?”

The stranger took a beat to respond as if processing. “My name is Yorakeith.”

“Hi, Yorakeith. I’m Lance.”

Yorakeith’s smile was transparent in his tone and he answered faster this time. “I know who you are, little prince.” He took Lance’s hand in a greeting clasp anyway. “Sorry I scared you.”

Lance shook his head, smiled dismissively, and didn’t let go of Yorakeith’s hand as they descended. Lance felt Yorakeith give three experimental tugs. When he gave up, Lance smiled.

His companion was a kind presence beside him. Despite his melancholy he couldn’t think poorly of the Marmora. They were right. Lance’s proposition was little more than a bucket of risks.

 _I could have designed my pitch better,_ Lance reflected. He thought being honest and confident was his best bet with the little he heard of the Marmoras’ character. They rejected weakness, his research concluded. But his performance painted him as cocky, entitled and selfish. His emotions got the better of him in the end.

He sighed, threading his fingers through Yorakeith’s (and ignoring the Marmora’s surprised squeak). Now what? Did he risk life and limb with those seedy sailors with wanderlust? Or did he just…back out of his plan altogether?

His companion was growing restless as they descended into the city proper. Cubic buildings rose around them. They were painted bright white or bright yellow or bright blue. Their shuttered windows were wooden and smoothed from decades of sea breeze. Some houses sported ornate carvings on their doors equipped with stories praising gods and ancestors to bar evil spirits’ entry. Some shops were still open smelling of spice and water and fresh-off-the-loom carpets.

Yorakeith tugged on his hand and paused in an undisturbed corner of a cobblestone road. “Lance, I—”

“Careful,” Lance yanked him close and out of the way of a young woman on a bicycle. On one shoulder she had an armada of brooms and didn’t spare them a backwards glance.

Lance positioned them so that his back was to potential traffic rather than Yorakeith’s. “Not used to the city?” he spoke slowly and smilingly.

Yorakeith ducked his head. Lance couldn’t get more than a cursory view of a wicked scar and curved rose petal lips. “No,” he murmured.

His skin was so pale. White, but not in a sickly way. According to the reigning fashion, Yorakeith would be wildly popular.

Yorakeith ducked his head further. “Stop that,” he shoved at Lance’s shoulders.

“Sorry you’re just…I didn’t expect you to be beautiful.”

He moved like a skittish animal. “Stop _that.”_

Lance yanked him forward by his elbow again. “Will you _please_ stop walking into traffic? You’re gonna get run over and then—”

“What?”

Lance breathed in and out. He enunciated each word, “I _said:_ stay close to me. Understand?”

Yorakeith’s posture implied he didn’t much like that order. Just as well. Better he not like it than Lance return Yorakeith to the Marmora in the form of soup.

Lance took his hand again and he scowled.

“I can’t understand why there is so much activity at night.” He wasn’t born deaf, Lance risked a guess, though every other word was inarticulate. “Isn’t it better to work under the sun?”

Lance faced him to reply. He caught, at long last, a glimpse of his companion’s eyes. Amethyst! No, darker: an indigo as rare in nature as it was in imported silks. They glittered, nearly totally black, and then they lidded in irritation.

Lance replied before Yorakeith could dislodge him, “Night life is like…for people who want to have fun but they don’t want their skin dark.”

Keith stared for a beat. His face abruptly wrinkled, “Why not?”

“Pale skin is fashionable.” Lance’s eyes cut over his features. “ _You_ would be very popular.”

He scoffed and looked away. Lance didn’t risk talking without Yorakeith facing him. Yorakeith didn’t try to pull away again.

Light poured out into narrow streets through ornate grills. Lance caught Yorakeith staring at a puppet show and pretended to be interested so that they could watch it together. As he ingested the story starry eyed, Lance imbibed his appearance.

He wore his hair unfashionably and raven black. He was taller than Lance—was he older?—and substantially more defined. Though his thick upper arms were bare his forearms were sheathed in gauntlets, their leather straps the same purple as Lance’s old knife. Yorakeith wore a short pleated skirt and sturdy sandals. Lance was glad for it: his legs were God’s grace.

“Come,” Lance said when the puppet show ended.

Yorakeith, once a child in wonder, now scowled fiercely. “I am escorting you _home_ , little prince. I have no intention of stalking you up and down the marketplace like a lovesick paramour!”

“If only,” Lance mouthed. “I like it when you call me _little prince_.”

Yorakeith pressed his lips together obstinately. He was tugged to a store strangled with merchandise. The ceiling was a galaxy of gorgeous lanterns: square, round, paper, tin, and like the puppet show he was besotted. It was easy to sneak up on him then.

Lance threw a scarf around his shoulders.

“Wha—”

Lance smiled, tied it in place, pat his chest and paid the vendor.

“Little pri—”

Lance smiled suggestively.

“ _de Leone,”_ he corrected stiffly, “I cannot afford this.”

“Gift.”

“I cannot accept this!”

“Shut up,” he pressed the pads of his fingers against Yorakeith’s lips. “Throw it away or sell it if you want, but it’s yours. No takebacks.”

Yorakeith grasped his wrist and dragged it away—he didn’t miss that Lance purposefully stretched out his forefinger to graze his chin. “If you mean to buy me—”

“I can’t. You guys told me point blank I can’t.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

Lance shook his head and repeated, “I won’t try.”

Yorakeith gestured to the scarf. It was soft and sheer, red and embroidered dark mustard with geometric shapes. “Then why?”

Lance shrugged. “Have you been to Voltron before?”

“Of course I have,” he snapped. “I _live_ here.”

“Yeah but, that was your first puppet show, right?”

Yorakeith didn’t answer.

“Can you hear me at all?”

“I hear your tone.”

“Not the words.”

Yorakeith shook his head. He was not startled this time when Lance yanked him out of the way of a horse cart advancing on them from behind. They walked with Yorakeith on the inside of the road. The paths Lance led them on grew quieter and quieter until they stood before a pale blue wooden gate. It was unremarkable. Yorakeith looked up.

Behind it was a complex of white plaster. The gate led into a rectangular courtyard of yellow earthen tiles. Three stories of balconies wrapped around it, heavy with lanterns and epiphytes. There were two guards who eyed Yorakeith but did not advance.

“This is my home,” Lance spread his arms and wriggled his brow. He led him to the tiled fountain in the center. “It belonged to a great-aunt. She gave it to me for my coming-of-age gift.”

Yorakeith didn’t voice how ridiculous it was for someone to receive a mansion as a birthday present. He bowed over the fountain and rinsed his hands and face. It was delightfully brisk. When he looked up Lance was sitting on the fountain, head bowed, hood fallen, digging dirt from under his nails.

He had features so fine they were pointy. His dark hair curled every which way which only added to his juvenile appearance. His lips were full. He was cute until he looked up and grinned and Yorakeith _knew_ he’d hate whatever he’d say next.

He turned away before that could happen.

It took a moment, but then Lance reached to him, grasped his chin. His fingers were dry but blustering, and Yorakeith turned to him to complain. Lance’s eyes were no longer playful.

“I want to give this place to the Marmora.”

Yorakeith stared.

“Did you understand me?”

“Yes…but why?”

Lance released him. “What the hell am I gonna do with thirty empty rooms!? Grannie rented it out but I don’t have it in me to be a landlord.” He paused. “When I heard about you people and that you squat on land just outside the city I thought it would be better serving you.”

Yorakeith looked up. The corridors that connected front doors were open to the elements (apart from the concrete ceilings) and the floors everywhere outside of the courtyard were tiled in blue, black and white. The high walls didn’t let sounds from the road in, and there was plenty of space to create vegetable gardens, for children to kick balls back and forth, for fathers to gossip and mothers to lounge with their pipes. It promised a sedentary life.

He glared. “Are you showing me this so that I can convince Kolivan to help you?”

“That would be nice,” Lance smiled, “but no. He’s right: it’s not cool of me to ask someone else to risk their life on my suicide mission.”

Yorakeith softened, bemused.

“I don’t think I’ll be coming off that boat. So I’m giving it to you.”

Yorakeith stared.

“I’ll get the deed.”

Yorakeith snatched his wrist as he stood. He released it just as quickly. “Sorry, I…de Leone, why are you doing this?”

Lance didn’t understand. He gave an exaggerated shrug and frown.

“I mean going into Voltron Strait. What do you get out of it?”

Lance’s eyes lit up. He reclaimed his seat. He was hungry to tell someone his plans since he hatched them and who better to come clean to than the perfect stranger? He clasped his hands against Yorakeith’s in his lap—Yorakeith jerked and frowned but didn’t pull away—and Lance paused. “Would you understand me if I whispered?”

Keith looked unsure. “It’s easier to figure out what you’re saying if I hear your tone of voice.”

“Is this loud enough?”

One of the guards on vigil glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes but can you afford to shout?”

“Eh. So. You know that my family is heavily invested in sea trade.”

“Oh,” he didn’t know. “That explains everything.”

“Shut _up_ I’m not done!”

Yorakeith’s lips twitched with an aborted smile.

“My oldest brother owns and manages the warehouses on the wharf.”

“How many of them?”

Lance looked at him oddly. “All of them.”

Yorakeith let his surprise show on his face.

“We’re an all or nothing family,” he beamed. “So my oldest brother Luis owns all the warehouses, my second oldest brother owns a private courier company dependent on the sea routes, my oldest sister is a naval architect—very famous, she was trained in Narquod—” Keith squinted, missing that bit, “and my other sister Rachel is a naval officer, a navigator. You see where I’m going with this.”

He replied slowly, “I saw where you were going with this from the moment you said—”

Lance pressed the pads of his fingers against Yorakeith’s lips. “Shush. Now—”

And this time he _did_ smile.

(And one of the guards coughed.)

“Now, the pirates that have Voltron by the nuts are fucking geniuses because water is the best way to travel. All the land routes are either too long or clogged up with bandits and our imperial army is spread too thin to actually make the roads safe for merchants. You with me?”

He waited patiently as Yorakeith rattled his head, asked a question, Lance repeated, and then nodded.

“Good. So we’re suffering. Voltron is going to suffer _bad_ in the long run because travel won’t be economical, but travel is how we manage our empire. It will collapse until we re-open our routes. So I figure…”

“…you figure you can go out there and clear out the pirates on your own.”

“Bingo.”

“de Leone—”

“Little prince."

“Voltron’s forces have tried and failed to take out the pirates. Their ships are faster, better, and they have too many of them _and_ too many guns.”

Lance whistled. “For someone who doesn’t know shit about Voltron you know a lot about the siege.”

“My sister ran a recon mission for an admiral.”

Lance looked interested but didn’t press.

“The majority of Voltron’s naval forces are supporting Ranveig’s battle in the northeast. What makes you so sure you can do any better?”

“ _Because_ my loveable little mercenary,” and Yorakeith’s nose twitched in an aborted snarl, “I have what those beta muscle headed warlords don’t have. _Information._ I know, for example, that the pirate ships work together in tactical formations. They’re a _unit._ And I happen to know who their leaders are.”

“How do _you_ know this and the leaders who can do something about it don’t?”

“Hello? My brothers live and work in the wharves? My sisters deal with seafaring men each day?”

It clicked. “Right.”

“This intel will trickle up the grapevine eventually but my aim is that by the time it does the problem will be long solved.”

“How do you plan on resolving it?”

“Ah-bup-bup!” and he pressed his fingers to Yorakeith’s lips once more. “I can’t give you all my secrets now can I?”

Yorakeith dragged his hand away. “You’ve already told me the majority of your ploy.”

“Mm, and if I tell you the rest of it I’ll lose my advantage.”

“What advantage? You expect me to rat you out?”

“No. But if I tell you all my secrets you won’t find me mysterious and alluring anymore.”

Yorakeith did not immediately reply and Lance worried the subtext flew over his head.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Oh thank _God_ you can tell.”

“With _me?”_

“Have been for a while now, by the way. All the touching, buying you the scarf, watching the puppet show with you.”

Yorakeith turned his head away. “That’s…”

 _Cute,_ Lance thought of his stammering.

“It’s pointless. You’ll be going back to your world and I—”

Lance tugged his hands free of Keith’s to angle his chin and face forward, to watch Keith’s face and have Keith watch his. Keith looked more miserable and confused than flattered, which Lance didn’t like at all. Reflexively he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _you!_ You’re talking about doing the impossible and just…giving away your _house…!”_

“It’s not impossible. Oh, by the way, can you have a room ready for me when I get back?”

“What?”

“Can you have a room ready for me—”

“No, I got that. Why?”

“So that I have somewhere to live, duh.”

“You’d want to live _with_ us?”

“If you’d have me.”

“Lance…we aren’t exactly popular.”

“Mm. If I come back from saving the empire I intend to fix that too.”

Yorakeith scoffed. “You’re fucking arrogant, y’know that?”

“Thanks,” and he leaned forward and pecked Yorakeith’s lips. Yorakeith, too accustomed to Lance invading his space, wasn’t surprised until Lance drew back and winked. “It’s a façade.”

-

He was beautiful.

Myzax was a machine of muscle and brutality but the nameless one from the north was a creature of elegance. There was precision in how he downed his opponents, beast or man, and he took to formal training like a swan to water. It didn’t hurt that beneath the sun in the whitewashed courtyard of Sendak’s estranged plantation he glimmered.

“He’s fetching,” Sendak’s guest, Jenka, leered behind his monocle. “Should he be domesticated properly you could pimp him out for a pretty penny.”

“Hm,” Sendak delegated. It hadn’t occurred to him to share.

“Does he have a history of diseases?”

“He was a prisoner of war, he didn’t precisely come with a certified pedigree.”

“Does he exhibit any mental disabilities? Or has any allergies?”

Sendak turned the tide of their talk, “Are you hoping to be put on the waiting list, Quartermaster?” He chanced being cruel: “I thought it was impossible to conceive at your age.”

Jenka was undeterred. “Sex for pleasure doesn’t end with menopause.”

Sendak looked at him quickly.

“Nor is an omega having sex with an alpha anything new.” He laughed. “You’re surprisingly conservative, senator!”

Sendak pillowed his cheek in his fist. He eyed his alpha thoughtfully.

“Does he have a name?”

Sendak reflected. His new gladiator might have been many things—brutish, dauntless, unhesitant—but he was intelligent. As much as he was quick to anger he recognized the value in learning the resident language of Voltron. He was exchanging simple dialogues within three months.

“Takashi Shirogane.”

“Exotic.”

Sendak murmured, “From the north-east.”

“Ranveig’s campaign?”

Sendak hummed.

“Do you ever miss campaigning, Sendak?”

“Almost barely. Though I wouldn’t exchange the piss poor rations and living conditions for anything. Living in the wilderness among stinking alpha is no way to live.”

Jenka chortled, “Speak for yourself.”

“You are disgusting, quartermaster.”

Jenka burst out laughing. Suddenly: “Takashi!”

Sendak’s slave frowned but didn’t turn away from a face full of blade. In the span of two seconds he ducked to the side, grabbed the staff of his opponent’s halberd, yanked it forward, got purchase of his opponent’s neck and brought his knee up to his groin.

His trainer crumpled. Takashi only looked up when others in sparse armor dragged him away.

“Intelligent little thing,” Jenka sat up enthusiastically. “Can’t even distract him, eh?”

Sendak growled, “Risk lives on your own property, Jenka.”

“Nothing for it, is there? He’s hale and hearty. _Takashi? Takashi! Come here!_ He _can_ understand me, can’t he?”

From the distance Sendak saw Takashi’s narrowed gaze shift from one lounging lord to the other. Eventually he advanced. Jenka by then placed his feet on the ground, even though he remained seated.

“How lovely. I like how you keep his hair, Sendak.”

Sendak watched Jenka with the same amount of trust Takashi did.

He stank of work and sweat. His body rippled with each breath. His skirts were pleated and slit at the sides maximizing his mobility and displaying robust, dimpled hips. Heat rolled off him.

Jenka hummed. He reeked of interest. “He seems even younger up close. How old are you?”

Takashi growled, “Seven.”

“Cheeky little thing.”

“Let him return to his training, Jenka.”

“Now just wait. I want to know what I’ll be investing in.”

“I never agreed to let you—”

Jenka’s hands slipped up Takashi’s skirt.

Takashi slapped him.

 _Pow!_ He toppled off the bench. The sound reverberated across the court. The trainers and medic glanced up. Sendak sat upright.

One moment Jenka was biting his lip in appreciation, the next he was shaking on the ground nursing the cheek that would surely bruise. What got Sendak was his look of absolute shock, as though the idea Takashi wouldn’t enjoy being groped was unfathomable.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“ _Is this how you treat your guests!”_ Jenkda’s voice quivered with rage. He was pink from more than injury now. One of his personal guards came forward to help him to his feet. “Sendak! _Sendak!”_

“Forgive me,” Sendak said without a speck of remorse, “but what did you _expect?”_

Jenka tore himself away from his attendant. “You will hear from me.”

“ _Me?_ After it was you who touched the man inappropriately?”

“You need to get him under control!”

“I’d say he’s in fine control. Had I been in his position you would have gotten worse than a black eye.”

Jenka foamed at the mouth in fury and carried himself away. Sendak chuckled. He crooked his finger at an attendant, a plain beta boy known as Beezer. “Send a message to Haxus. Tell him I want to own all of Jenka’s property by the end of the month.”

Beezer, mute, bowed, and jogged to the plantation house.

Takashi surprised Sendak again when he spoke. Takashi had a smooth, soft, deep voice, clear, it carried, and its cadence was easy to remember. Sendak thought his accent charming. He grumbled, “You are not mad.”

Sendak chuckled. “I suppose you _are_ lucky I don’t like Jenka.” Sendak eyed him. “Hm. Actually, I do have a punishment for you.”

Takashi hissed, rows of teeth on display.

“Easy. You get to choose. One: you spend the next four days sharpening your skills against my militia.”

“Not a punishment. I beat them.”

Sendak grinned. Cocky. “So you don’t want to hear the second option?”

Takashi tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. He was aware now that these _punishments_ weren’t exactly punishments at all. While Takashi was not fond of fighting, he was grateful that he was being trained and educated. Being Sendak’s prize bull was a welcome change to being fodder of the arena.

He faced his owner and savored the new words, “What is the _second option_?”

“Spend the next four days with me in the great house.”

Takashi recoiled. “Why?”

“Come and find out. What do you choose?”

Takashi turned his head to the low wall that circumvented Sendak’s property. It was an easy escape. Without the heavy populations and police of the city it was a matter of running far and fast after jumping the wall. There was a jungle on the edge of Sendak’s farmland. It would be hard, but he would be free.

But he would be farther than ever from finding out the truth about his husband.

“I stay with you,” Takashi decided winning Sendak’s trust was his best bet. “What must I do?”

Sendak stood. He was even taller than Takashi: it was hard to believe he was omega.

Takashi was not disgruntled by Sendak peering down his nose at him though he seemed to enjoy making a show out of it. When he smiled two sharp tusks jutted out of his bottom row of teeth. He leaned forward and murmured against Takashi’s wet face: “First? Take a bath.”

 _Was that meant to be arousing?_ Takashi wondered. He wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. Sendak seemed pleased regardless. His smile was self-satisfied as he issued new instructions to Beezer while pointing at Takashi. He strode away and Takashi, irritated, drove his broadsword into the ground narrowly missing Beezer’s feet.

Beezer jumped back and shrieked.

Shiro forgot the Altean word for sorry.

(He took a moment to wonder if the brutes even had one.)

Three hours later Takashi stood in the twilight feeling distinctly like a plucked chicken.

He’d been scrubbed and groomed to kingdom come. His skin felt raw from what was either one very long bath or eleven individual ones. He had been escorted to a room with pale blue walls and three massive windows that offered a great view of the east. He’d been stuffed into a white skirt and robe that wouldn’t close, both long to his ankles. They were so sheer and so thin that he might as well not have been wearing them at all. On each wrist and each ankle were two gold bangles.

He felt like a sacrifice.

Sendak appeared with two goblets. He was dressed in a shirt cinched at the waist by a sash and a loincloth long to his shins.

“Good evening, Takashi.”

Takashi stared at the goblet offered to him. His eyes flickered up to his patron’s face. “Is it spiked?”

Sendak chortled. “Where did you learn _that_?!”

“Your soldiers gossip.” He took the goblet but didn’t drink from it. “What do you want from me?”

“Sit on the bed with me. I want to speak with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re capable of holding a conversation. Come.”

Takashi dragged his feet and sat. Sendak smelled sweet, in part of fruity perfume in part like interested omega. He didn’t drink, though Sendak did.

Three loud gulps later he asked, “How old are you? Really.”

“Seven.”

“Takashi…”

“The solar circle from home is different. It changes every circle. I born on a day that disappears for three circles.”

“Circles…you mean cycles? Solar cycles. A calendar.”

“Calendar,” Takashi repeated.

“You were born on a leap year.”

Takashi shrugged.

“I’ve heard of those calendars. Under Voltron we have no use for them, we’ve updated since then and our means of telling time doesn’t change. It’s archaic, I didn’t know it was still in use.”

Takashi glared at _archaic._ He knew enough Altean to know it could be used impolitely but not enough to formulate a relevant rebuttal.

Sendak stopped teasing. “You’re in your mid-thirties.”

Takashi didn’t answer.

“It’s not spiked, you know.”

Takashi didn’t drink.

“Why were you cast to the circus?”

Takashi frowned incredulously. “Because your people are sadistic sexist racist assholes who destroyed my home.”

Sendak, startled, blinked. “Who taught you _that?”_

Takashi thought of the man he met last year, a slave like him who worked as a healer. He couldn’t afford the training, he wasn’t _allowed_ the training, and he had educated Takashi in the foundations of Altean.

“Not taught.” At last, he drank.

“Not just anyone is thrown to the circus,” Sendak persisted. He tilted his head to catch Takashi’s gaze again. “Only unruly alpha—”

“I am unruly.”

“I disagree.” He finished his goblet. “You are angry, and you fight. But you are not undisciplined. You changed radically when offered sanitary living conditions and an education.”

Takashi clenched his jaw. Did Sendak mean to paint himself as his savior? Was he trying to coerce Takashi into thinking Sendak was _caring_ for him rather than _investing_ in him?

When Sendak’s lukewarm fingers and their long, clean nails curled under his chin he did not resist, though it was an effort.

“You’ve been wronged. You don’t belong in the circus.”

“You will send me there,” Takashi spat. “It is why you train me.”

“No, I train you because I want you for myself.”

Takashi shook his hand off. He began to suspect. “What do you want?”

“I want you to be my personal guard. I’m a popular man who has made a few enemies. Having security is commonplace for men like me.”

“You have an army.”

“They lack your instinct and creativity. My soldiers are driven by money but you are impassioned with something greater than that. _That_ is what I want from you.”

Takashi sulked. “Can I refuse?”

“Why would you? As my guard you’d get access to more than what you do now. Games, clothes, jewelry, the finest education money can buy.”

_He means to lock me in gold chains._

“I am still your slave.”

Sendak paused. He pressed his hand over Takashi’s resting on the bed. “You don’t have to be.” And he kissed him.

Takashi yanked away.

Sendak thought he looked…alarmed. When Sendak leaned forward Takashi shifted back again. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t fear _hurt_.”

Sendak’s guards stood outside of this door. Sendak could doom his life to something worse than fighting off predatory animals barehanded.

Sendak mounted him and undressed.

-

Lance stood at Voltron’s southernmost port. At his back, the city was silhouetted by dawn. Before him the _Blue Lion_ was preparing to set sail. Lance’s last minute purchases of salt, beef and lanterns were being hoisted into the hold by strapping men and women with bowed backs and languid eyes. He hated watching the alpha work on this end of the city. It was obvious they were drugged.

“Lord Lanceria,” the captain groused.

Lance tensed.

She was a rough woman hewn from the wind and the sea. A free alpha, she was colossal, dwarfing Lance as a bulldog dwarfs a garden fairy, and she was twice his age. She didn’t like him. “We been granted let leave and I say we go _now_. The kind round here don’t stay tight lipped, no matter the coin.”

Lance smarted. It had been a considerable bribe to keep the harbourmaster quiet. “Right,” he cleared his throat. He sounded hoity-toity among the callus pidgins of seafarers. “Let’s go.”

Captain Ladnok nodded and belted out orders to her crew. When she walked, the boards shuddered. Lance shuddered.

Their section of the port was the only animated section, which was why amidst the drunkards, barrels and idle seagulls he picked up the quick motion of strangers easily.

When he recognized their hoods his heart thumped. A pair of Marmora! Instead of skirts and sandals they wore billowing trousers and boots. Their thick vests, metal gauntlets, bone-white masks and dark hoods were unchanged.

Lance’s heartbeat outright shattered his sternum when the shorter one dropped his mask.

_“Yorakeith!”_

“Hello, little prince.” Yorakeith softly _oof’ed_ when Lance catapulted himself into his chest.

His stomach swooped. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I talked to Kolivan. I told him that I was coming to help you no matter what.” He pointed, “This is Regris, my partner and cousin. He volunteered to come with me.”

Lance gaped. “U-uh. Thank you. Hello.”

Regris inclined his head and did not remove his mask. “Hello, little prince.”

“But…I can’t afford you. That woman wanted a lot of gold and…”

“Don’t worry about my mom. We’re not here because we are obligated to return a debt. We’re here to support a friend of the Marmora.”

There were many things Lance could have eked out in that moment. Forever he’d resent that the first thing he blurted was, _“Mom?!”_

“Lord Lanceria!” the first mate called. “We’re off!”

Lance dragged Yorakeith by his elbow chattering all the while. Yorakeith missed most of it, but was happy to read hope in his posture.

Of course when they stumbled onto the deck they won several hard stares.

Captain Ladnok stepped forward to appraise them. Yorakeith’s expression slipped into cool neutrality. “We ‘ave some stowaways, m’lord?”

“Friends,” Lance corrected, “to ensure an uneventful journey. They won’t get in your way and there’s food enough on the barge for three trips to and from the strait.”

Yorakeith wondered if Lance saw the twitch of disapproval in her scowl. If he had to guess, Ladnok was intending to take the _Blue Lion_ to the strait and beyond, all goes well.

“Fine. They get in our way they’d sooner see the bottom of the trench than the Jolly Roger.”

Regris replied, “I like swimming.”

Whatever Regris replied, Yorakeith was forced to suppress his grin at Ladnok’s livid face.

Lance stepped forward before more hackles could rise. “All’s well, right? They’ll bunk with me. I’ll show them the room. Thank you, captain!” He turned, Yorakeith hot on his tail. Regris lingered half a second longer to level Ladnok a look she felt more than saw.

They’d thrown a spanner in her works with their very presence and they knew it.

Lance’s room was quaint for one and squashed for three. Keith mentioned they would do rotations to keep watch as Lance slept.

“Ladnok’s a whopping son of a bitch,” Yorakeith grunted. “I wouldn’t want to turn my back on her.”

“The rest of them are no better. You flirt with danger employing them, little prince.”

“Why do you think I wanted Marmora protectors so bad?” He sat on his bed.

Yorakeith noticed him trembling and kneeled before him. “de Leone?”

Lance exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re here!” and threw his arms around Yorakeith’s shoulders.

The mercenary jumped in the hold and just managed to see Regris retreating from the corner of his eye. With one hand tied up in Lance’s embrace he frantically signed with the other, _“Wait wait wait wait wait—”_

“Take care of the little prince, I’m going to look around the ship,” Regris replied in cool, casual strokes. He disappeared.

Yorakeith huffed. He felt Lance convulsing rhythmically. “Are…are you crying?”

He felt a blunt sound and Lance squeezed him harder.

“Okay, okay, it’s okay.” He stroked Lance’s back. He felt so thin. “You’re okay.”

When Lance was eventually prepared to retreat he slapped his hands over Yorakeith’s eyes.

“Ow.”

A firm press.

“No looking. Got it.” The hand moved and he remained obediently blind. It didn’t unnerve him as much as he thought it would to be unaware of where Lance disappeared to. “You’ve got snot hanging low from your nose, huh?”

Yorakeith laughed at the flick to his ear.

At two taps to his cheek he opened his eyes again. Lance looked a little soft and bloated and worried and relaxed. Yorakeith pat his knee. “Better?”

Lance rolled his shoulders.

“I figure it’s obvious but your family don’t know you’re here do they.”

Lance shook his head.

“Is that why you couldn’t hire a boat or guards from regular places?”

He sniffed, hands restless. Yorakeith offered his hand and Lance’s fingers took to them like the cilia of a curious sea creature. “They would tell me I have more important things to worry about.”

“ _Do_ you?”

“I, well. Not as important as this.”

Yorakeith’s brow rose but he didn’t press and Lance didn’t volunteer. So instead he asked what had been burning him up from the moment they met: “Why are you so confident that you can do this?”

Lance smirked. Its cockiness was hurt by his bruised eyes. “That’s kinda my thing.”

“Hubris?”

_“Confidence.”_

Yorakeith laughed and Lance wrung his ear in retaliation.

At noon they resurfaced for food and sun. Over a bowl of lemon spiked broth Lance watched Yorakeith and Regris reconvene with great interest. Their hands danced in the air, gauntlets flashing, and Lance couldn’t look away. One or two of the crew couldn’t either. They watched openly as they worked.

“What was that?”

“What?”

And Lance imitated a gesture he’d seen passed between them a lot.

Yorakeith perked up. “You picked up that much already?”

“What does it mean?”

“That’s the symbol for _eat._ We were discussing how to split our responsibilities and when to eat and sleep.”

“I’ve never seen that language before.”

Yorakeith shrugged. “A lot of Marmora have disabilities.” He glared. “It’s one of the reasons people avoid us. They’re scared they’ll _catch_ it.”

Lance frowned, “That’s not funny.”

“You’re trying not to laugh aren’t you.”

More sincerely, “It’s fucked up. I’m sorry people are stupid.”

Yorakeith shrugged again, dismissively this time. Lance tapped his shoulder and his look was a cross between amused, wary and critical. “What.”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“Teach me,” he gestured. “Or like, when you talk to me do the movements. We’ll be out here for two weeks that should be enough time to learn a little, right?”

Yorakeith eventually abided. It would pass the time anyway. “Here’s my name.”

He put his left palm up and dragged the index and middle finger of his other hand from the heel of his hand to the tip of his middle finger.

Lance echoed it. “That’s not what I expected.”

“ _Yorak_ means trail and _Keith_ is an Alteanized version of the Marmoran _i’kei_ which means long lasting. My father named me _a long journey,_ wishing me a long life.”

There was something sad about how he said that. Lance asked, “Is…is he…?”

“Dead? No! No, no—I’m expecting a little sister any day now actually. My parents can’t keep their hands off each other they’re gross.”

Lance laughed. “They were a love match huh? My parents too. My moms were childhood friends and they met my sire early in life and wouldn’t let him go for anything. We’re all full siblings which is borderline _unheard_ of. I’d have a lot more siblings if mama didn’t get a hysterectomy.”

“What’s a love match?”

“People who marry for love.”

Yorakeith shook his head. “As opposed to what?”

“What?”

“Why else would people get married?”

Lance sat up. “You…no, I guess you guys wouldn’t have arranged marriages…”

He gestured to his ear, “What?”

“People—uh, people with, sorry, wealth,” and Yorakeith brushed it off, “marry specific people so that they can stay wealthy. Marriage ties properties together. It’s like a business investment.”

“That’s awful.”

“It’s not love, and people take lovers all the time. It’s just a facet of life.”

Yoraketih was watching him curiously. The wind whipped at his hood and dragged it down for the first time. His hair was so black it seemed to suck the light out of the air. It was in a tight plait, not even his bangs escaping, a tail whipping down to the small of his back. Lance readily played with it as he had played with Keith’s fingers.

Keith didn’t bat an eye. “Are you married, Lance?”

Lance’s heart hiccupped. Yorakeith never called him by his given name before now. He smiled tightly and ducked his head. “No. I’ve gotten offers though. After my first heat we’re supposed to be launched,” and he gestured a thrusting motion with Keith’s hair in his hand still, “into society and frolic among suitors for like a good four months before I choose someone to court seriously. And I have to choose carefully because whoever I marry will seriously impact my career.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What do you need me to repeat?”

“I…get the gist, I think. What I don’t understand is why you _have_ to. I don’t know much but it sounds like your family is already rich. Why do you need to marry?”

“Marriage is a _given_ for me,” Lance frowned. “I’m omega and I’m from an old, traditional, wealthy family. And now that we’re losing a lot of income because of the pirates’ embargo…”

Yorakeith perked up. “You’re being forced into a marriage that will get the de Leone’s more money. Stopping the pirates means you get more choice in who to marry.”

“Okay, now you just make it sound bad.”

“Well it’s not exactly _nice_ ,” he frowned. “How can your family do that to you?”

“They give me options. They gave me a choice. And I want to help them. Hence why I’m braving the strait of Voltron to negotiate with the pirates.”

Yorakeith remembered that they started this dialogue with Lance requesting to learn his language. He leaned off the rail and depended on his sea legs and spoke with his hands and his voice, “Put that way you sound pretty selfish.”

Lance’s eyes lit up. His gestures carried a teasing lilt: “Yorakeith selfish.”

Yorakeith barked out one laugh. “Very good!”

“Okay so my mission is a little self-serving. But if it helps everyone in the end doesn’t that justify my actions?”

“You sound like a stage villain.”

“Oooh, I like that word. Sexy. Show me again.”

“Stage villain.”

“Yorakeith. Selfish. Stage villain.”

“Stop insulting me.”

Lance twittered. “Hey, what’s my name?”

“Lanceria?”

Lance’s heart stuttered. His name, slippery and tentative, sounded good on Keith’s voice. “N-no, I mean—among the Marmora you have a sign when referring to me, right?”

Yorakeith smirked, and tapped each earlobe with his index finger, fingers closed. “It’s more elegant than you deserve, in my opinion.”

“Shut up,” Lance grinned and mimicked him. As he did so he touched each of his earrings and realized where it came from. “What’s Regris’ name?”

Yorakeith pressed his hands together as though squashing a bug and rubbing its guts off his fingers, and brought an index finger to his temple.

Regris, who had appeared a while ago on their fringe of their conversation, clapped Yorakeith’s ass in retaliation. Yorakeith shrieked and swung his fist, but missed.

Lance laughed. “What did he call you?”

“Empty-headed,” Regris answered. “Don’t copy it, little prince.”

Lance paused. It was a near thing.

“This is my name,” he made an infinity sign in the air with his left thumb.

Lance copied him. “It’s more awkward than the others.”

“Story of Regris’ life— _oof!”_

“It means _plentiful eternal._ A blessing bestowed upon me at birth to have an enriched life.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“You’re really looking for a beatdown aren’t you.”

Lance laughed loud and unimpeded. Yorakeith looked up to catch his windswept hair and split grin and humor so profound he was going red from the effort. His clothes whipped around him like a halo made of lightweight viscose.

Yorakeith stifled a submissive whine that tickled his throat.

Regris caught it, because when he glanced to his cousin he said:

_“Whipped.”_

-

Sendak sucked Takashi off in the empty corner of the garden of his new villa. Despite his blush and sweat he bit his lips, careful not to let more than a huff out. The property was now Sendak’s, but Jenka’s employees—what was left of them—were still clearing out some of his things. His wife would likely divorce him for the rest by overmorrow.

Takashi wasn’t looking forward to getting caught. Sendak didn’t share his anxiety. He fingered Takashi briskly as he blowed him. His free hand was braced on Takashi’s shaking knee. Takashi had one fist against the wall and the other between his teeth.

Sendak had a bad habit of sneaking his “guard” into dark corners. Sometimes he enjoyed lifting Takashi’s fat thigh and messing with his hole until he came. Other times he enjoyed teasing him without bringing him to completion, trying to lure Takashi into crawling to him for sex. He was in the latter mood now: he’d edged Takashi six times before noon.

Takashi was always quiet. He served Sendak to satisfaction. He approached intimacy with Sendak the same way he approached his studies: with focus and a goal. He preferred to be in control. Sendak only leant him that luxury during his heats.

He’d yet to see Takashi fall into rut.

“Senator Sendak.”

Takashi turned his head away from where Haxus appeared. Haxus was indifferent to his quasi-nudity.

He rolled himself off Shiro’s semi. “Speak.”

“The documents are finalized sir. It’s all yours.”

“Good,” Sendak flexed his fingers. Takashi’s innards clenched. “Is that all?”

“No sir: His Majesty has offered to purchase Myzax.”

Sendak paused. “King…Zarkon,” he corrected himself. Alfor wasn’t fond of the gladiator battles but could never get enough votes to abolish it. “That’s intriguing. Myzax must be doing well in the ring to catch the king’s eye.”

“His net worth is the current price of this property.”

Takashi exhaled. Sendak let him go.

He said, “Tell the king I would gladly trade him. And I want a list of what champions he has.”

“Yes, sir.”

Haxus moved away and Sendak turned. “Where were we?”

“Finished,” Takashi snarled. “No more.”

Sendak’s brow raised. “As you wish. No need for the vitriol my dear, I would have stopped if you asked it of me.”

Takashi glared as reply.

“It’s just as well. I need to get things in order. King Zarkon is my old teacher and an impatient man: knowing him he’ll want to own Myzax as soon as tonight. Come with me to the event.”

“As if I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, my dear,” and he kissed Takashi’s tense cheek.

-

Dinner was oats and milk drizzled with honey. Lance couldn’t bring himself to eat.

“For all you boasted about your family’s connection to the see it’s ironic that you’re seasick.”

Lance smiled when Regris joined him. “Yorakeith told you.”

“Yorakeith told all of us. He was determined to help you from the beginning. What spell did you put him under?”

Lance blushed and looked for Yorakeith’s shape in the night. He was balancing on a railing, one hand on taut rope and a glass oil lamp in the other. His eyes were narrowed as though he could discern the line between the night and the strait.

“What is he even looking for? It’s black as pitch out there.”

“His eyes are unusually keen. He can see father underwater and in the dark than the rest of us. He’s likely looking for the pirates’ ships.”

“Really?”

“Kolivan likes to say what he lost in his ears went to his eyes.”

“What happened anyway? To his hearing, I mean.”

“Mm. He was… four at the time, I think. We were living in a different corner of the city and people didn’t much like us living there. They used these…fireworks to chase us out. I say fireworks but they were very loud and unending. And they flashed. We couldn’t see or hear as we ran away. Yorakeith wasn’t the only one who lost his hearing that day.”

“Ancients…I’m so sorry.”

“We have more than one memory like that.”

Lance sighed, “I’m going to change that.”

“Change…?”

“People won’t do that to your people anymore if I have anything to say about it.”

Regris sounded amused: “I mean no offense, little prince, but what can one boy do?”

He stuck his nose in the air. “Watch me.”

Regris hummed then tilted his mask up and ate. Lance caught a glimpse of a cruel scar in his cheek as though it had been slashed to make his mouth wider.

Lance looked away, heart pattering like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. He asked, “By the way, why do you guys call me _little prince_?”

“Yorakeith said you liked it.”

Lance stammered.

“Or is it that you like when _Yorakeith_ says it?”

Lance blushed.

“You dress like a little prince. Like those babies that are weighed down in gold and jewels and walk around ignorant about how everyone else lives.”

Lance was pink from humiliation now. “Okay, fine, so I’m a little sheltered.”

“You also act entitled.”

“When have I—”

“You expected us to help you.”

“Well, I mean, I was banking on it, yeah, I wouldn’t say _expecting_ it.”

“You also took Yorakeith on a date and showered him in expensive gifts.”

Lance jumped. “He told you _that_ too?!”

“He didn’t describe it as a date, but his mother started asking questions when he didn’t hide his scarf properly. He has it on his person almost all the time.”

Lance looked at where Yorakeith was. He’d moved to the bow of the ship now, still vigilant.

“Did you court him hoping to steal him for your mission, little prince?”

Lance’s glare dropped like a ton of unspoken threats on Regris’ head. His voice was ice: “ _Excuse_ me?”

Regris turned to his meal. “It was just a question.”

Lance didn’t answer. He got to his feet. “I think I’m going to turn in.”

“Good night, de Leone.”

Lance made his way up to Yorakeith’s side. Something must have shown on his expression.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Regris.”

“Heh. Yeah, he does that.”

Lance smiled. Four little words and it all felt so inconsequential.

“I noticed you didn’t eat. Feeling sick?”

Lance shrugged in reply.

“You could eat something spicy.”

“Spicy?”

“I heard it helps with nausea.”

“Alright,” and he grabbed Yorakeith’s hand. “Let’s go then!”

“M-me too?”

“I need a co-conspirator in case we get caught.”

“Chef scares me.”

“Come on.” He yanked him from his post.

Yorakeith stumbled behind him with a half-smile. With his free hand he alerted Regris.

Regris replied at length.

“What’d he say?”

“He said I can go to bed first. He’ll take first watch tonight.”

“Didn’t he take first watch yesterday?”

“He’s probably anxious. I am too honestly. Those pirates could show any day now.” He trailed off when Lance led them to their room rather than the mess. Only when Lance locked the door did he tilt his head in confusion. Then he was pinned against the door, one brown hand on each shoulder.

Alarmed, Yorakeith whispered, “Is this the part where you ravage me?”

Lance barked out a juvenile laugh. “He’s got jokes!”

“I’m not joking.”

“I didn’t think Marmora had a sense of humor!”

“I was being fairly serious.”

Lance dropped his head to Yorakeith’s shoulder such that his temple rest against the pulse in Yorakeith’s throat. Yorakeith gradually wrapped his arms around him in a hesitant embrace. He felt Lance’s back vibrating.

“I can tell that you’re speaking,” he murmured. “I can’t tell what you’re saying.”

Lance shook his head and squeezed Yorakeith’s torso. Yorakeith realized he was either crying or venting. He held him until the hiccupping in his shoulders ebbed.

When he finally stepped away he immediately turned his back and covered his face.

“Wait…”

Lance ducked under the bed for his bag. He tossed one hand behind him with a flashy gesture, a raucous _never mind never mind never mind_ that Yorakeith caught in one hand. Lance looked at him reflexively and then caught himself and turned away again. It was too late. He was already seen in his red-faced rheumy-eyed snotty-nosed quivering-lipped glory.

His shoulders shook again when Yorakeith threaded their fingers together. “Lance?” he sang. “Lanceria, look at me?”

Lance shook his head.

With his free hand Yorakeith pulled a handkerchief from Lance’s satchel. He handed it over. Lance blew his nose and dabbed his eyes. He sighed.

“Will you look at me now?”

He did but he didn’t look much better. His eyes nose and lips were violent pink. His cheeks were soft and tense. He wouldn’t meet Yorakeith’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Lance scowled at the ground.

“What happened to the spitfire who said he’d fight the hurricane and win?”

Lance cracked a smile. His lips moved. _I didn’t say that,_ Yorakeith guessed, but he wasn’t sure.

Softer, “Did something happen?”

Lance shook his head. He brought his other hand to their knotted hands. Yorakeith thought he’d pry him away but instead he traced Yorakeith’s knuckles over and over again.

“I am—”

“Look at me? It’s harder to read you when you turn away.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Continue?”

“I just got worried. It’s really going to happen now.”

“What, meeting pirates face to face?”

He nodded.

“So what? Are you scared? You didn’t seem scared before.”

“I didn’t think I would fail before.”

“Why would you think you wouldn’t now?”

“Because Regris—”

“Regris! Don’t listen to Regris. Regris is an asshole.”

Lance shot him a confused look. “I thought he was your cousin.”

“That’s how I know.”

Lance chortled and Yorakeith counted it as a win. Lance continued somberly, “He said that you guys call me little prince because I come across as entitled. And I was thinking…yeah, I am. I’ve gotten everything since birth. Why do I feel like I can get this too? I was so determined to make a name for myself on my own power that I never once considered I might fail.”

“Lance, you’re talking shit.”

_“Hey!”_

“Hear me out. You’re going to feel in doubt sometimes. That’s fine. But you got here on your own power. You got a good ship, and a kickass bodyguard squad, and a most-likely-mutinous crew of sailors but never mind that last one,” Lance suppressed another laugh. “You did that. You did. Personally I think you’ve come too far to fail now.”

“God, you’re so cringey.”

“Shut up. You’re laughing, that says more about your shitty sense of humor than my shitty pep talk.”

Lance laughed. He ducked his head, played with his fingers for a moment. Yorakeith waited. Lance held his cheek and pressed a peck to his lips.

“Thank you,” Yorakeith assumed he said, but he didn’t pay attention because he was kissing Lance himself.

Kissing Lance was a dialogue. Kissing Lance was feeling the ebb and flow of the ocean. Kissing Lance was like learning how to swim, an eternal buoyancy beside a fear of drowning. Yorakeith chose to get lost in it, and it was easy to do, because Lance was giving him his total attention.

Lance’s hands were the hands of an aristocrat: articulate and calloused from hours playing a horde of instruments. They licked chords down Yorakeith’s spine. They plucked open his vest. They strummed free his braid. Lance’s lips made a 'wow' shape when his curling mane was released.

Yorakeith rubbed his nose up Lance’s and asked, “Go to the bed?”

Lance licked his bottom lip and climbed into the threadbare mattress. Yorakeith chased him and they were kissing again, now Yorakeith’s hands were beneath Lance’s hips and his erection pressed to the intimacy between his thighs. Lance’s ankles locked at Yorakeith’s lower back.

 _He’s not upset anymore,_ he thought. He was cajoled into rocking by Lance’s assertive feet. He abided. Lance pulled him even closer with a excited moan.

Comfortable as embracing Lance was, Yorakeith was not misguided into thinking this was any foundation of love. This did not mean Lance was interested in him. This did not mean that their friendship was false, a preliminary trial before sex. He told himself that while he felt Lance whine in his mouth as he bucked a little harder and his hardon unfurled. He told himself that while Lance’s hand unlaced his trousers and reached for his cock at the same time.

He groaned, pressing their foreheads together as they separated. “Lanceria…”

Lance shivered under him. He tapped Yorakeith’s cheek and mouthed something while leading his cock to his damp folds.

_Okay?_

Yorakeith nodded and pressed forward. Lance tensed up then winced. He pulled back. “Are you—”

Lance grabbed him. “Please? Please.”

Yorakeith kissed him apologetically. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. Hold me.”

Yorakeith wrapped his arms under Lance such that one hand held his shoulder from behind and the other held his nape. Lance clawed at his shirt. Yorakeith felt for changes in Lance’s breathing as he edged in, pushing and pulling until Lance was egging him forward again. Lance moved his hands between them to grab the back of Yorakeith’s head and lure him forward into a smattering of panicked kisses.

Yorakeith stilled and followed Lance until he was steady again. He felt their heartbeats where they were joined. It shocked him. It aroused him. In that moment he learned above all else that he was prepared to protect Lance with all his might. His thumb flicked on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Lance nodded.

“I’m going to move now, okay? I’ll be gentle.”

Lance nodded, their lips bumped.

Yorakeith sucked six careful hickies into Lance’s throat as he eased himself in and out. Lance’s body was fantastic, it felt suited to his, not because of how his channel kept sucking Yorakeith in but because of how his limbs curled around him. Despite himself he fell in love with the shape of Lance’s mouth when he transitioned from gritting his teeth to panting openly.

Lance’s teeth lengthened in arousal. His incisors were especially long and pointy. They reminded Yorakeith of deep water fish or agitated vipers. He curled his tongue around one and predictably bled.

“S-sorry…”

Yorakeith grinned selfishly. “Don’t be.”

Lance’s eyes glittered. Yorakeith paused. His lower back burned and his hips ached but he touched Lance’s cheeks. “You crying?”

“ _No.”_ He rubbed them away. “Harder?”

“You’re sure?”

“I want to feel what it’s like.”

“Stop me for anything.”

Lance nodded.

So Yorakeith leaned up, grasped his ass and fucked into him deep and fast. Lance must have wailed, if the way his back jerked off the bed was any indication. What a pretty shape. His belly and thighs—still latched to Yorakeith’s hips!—vibrated.

Yorakeith pressed a kiss to his fingers and his fingers to the cute pudge below Lance’s belly button, right where his womb would be.

He watched with interest as Lance jerked himself off, bit his lip, gripped the sheets…to Yorakeith the change was immediate. He was tighter, his channel was _undulating,_ if that were possible, feeling like a throat looks as it swallows—

Lance tore his hand away and spasmed. His sex fluttered as Yorakeith shallowly fucked him through it. He felt himself vocalize. Lance’s breathing began to even out the same moment he came.

He opened his eyes to Lance’s cattish smile. “You look good.”

Yorakeith blushed. His orgasm didn’t leave him entirely yet. His body wanted to stay plugged into his omega. His gums itched, so when Lance made grabby hands at him he shook his head. “I want to bite you. I should stay away from your neck.”

He licked his lips and tilted his hips up. “What if I wanted you to bite me?”

Yorakeith moaned, “Please. My restraint is thin as it is.”

“Sorry.”

They laughed.

Yorakeith eventually submitted to the urge to hug Lance anyway. Their skin and shirts were overwarm and sticky but they threw their arms over one another, half on their sides, Yorakeith rolling his hips and prolonging their aftershocks. Yorakeith kneaded the swell of Lance’s ass and Lance’s fingers tangled and untangled his hair.

Lance said something in between their kisses and Yorakeith drew back. “Mm?”

“How come you didn’t give eggs?”

“I’m, uh,” he blushed. “I haven’t, I don’t do that yet.”

“What.”

“I don’t do that yet.”

“How old are you?”

He groaned.

Lance pulled on his ear. “Tell me! Am I gonna get locked up for statutory rape?!”

“Ow ow ow! Twenty-three! I’m twenty-three!”

Lance released him. “Oh. You’re older than me.”

He nursed his pink ear.

“So you’re a late bloomer, huh?”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not! I didn’t get my first heat until last week and I’m nineteen. My sisters and brothers got theirs at fifteen, sixteen—Ron get hers at twelve—so everyone was worried I was sterile for a while.”

“What does it matter that you can bear kits or not?”

Lance grinned and dropped his cheek in a palm. “I guess it’s another upper class omega thing.” He brushed the back of his knuckles against his cheek. “You’re very handsome, Keith.”

He blushed. “Keith?”

“Keith.”

“Why Keith?”

“A nickname. You like it?”

“You just shrunk my name to _long lasting.”_

 _“Mmm_ that you do.” He laughed when Keith smacked his hand in his face. Abruptly he stopped.

Keith jerked up to his elbow. “What? What is it?”

“Someone is trying to open the door.”

Keith turned and indeed saw it shaking. Rapidly he twisted Lance on his back and separated them with a reluctant drag back and consoling kiss. By the time he crossed the room he was in his loose shirt, his spacious pants were tied low on his hips, he was barefoot and he had one leaf-shaped short sword drawn.

Lance was still pulling himself together. When he was presentable Keith opened the door.

The barrel of a shotgun was pointed between his eyes.


	2. Conveniences

Keith ducked and the shotgun went off.

In the corner of his field of vision Lance went to the floor and squeezed under the bed.

 _Good Lance,_ Keith thought as he threw the door closed. The shotgun went off two more times. Keith grabbed the barrel and shoved it back, effectively giving the shooter a bloody nose. Disoriented, her grip slacked enough for Keith to yank it forward and slam the door shut.

“Lance, can you shoot?”

Lance, dust bunnies in his hair, wide-eyed and flushed, nodded. When he was on his feet Keith tossed the weapon to him.

“Stay behind me at all times. I won’t be able to hear you so if I give you an instruction I expect you to follow it, understand?”

Lance nodded in his periphery.

“Good boy. Stay close.”

Keith took him to the wall parallel to the door, which flexed under each assault. Its hinges were splintering the wood. Keith pulled a dagger from his coat hanging aside. He flipped the familiar weight and exhaled.

The door burst open.

Keith thrust his blade into the first ear he saw. A cutlass flashed before him and he blocked it—the swordsman jerked back from a shot to the nose.

_Good Lance!_

Keith continued moving. A woman with the bloody nose was next, holding a pistol. “Behind me Lance!” He squashed Lance against the doorframe and brought his arm up—thank the Ancients he was still wearing his gauntlets!—a fire bloomed in his shoulder and he slashed her fingers then her throat before she could get in another shot.

Keith looked down each end of the corridor. He felt the heat of Lance at his back. No more assailants for—

A burst of heat and a recoil later, someone dropped down the stairs before them.

Keith swallowed. “Excellent shot, Lance,” he whispered.

Lance nudged his shoulder blade in reply. They crawled forward, but no-one else descended on them. Did they get Regris? Was he still alive? That question was answered when they finally made it on the deck.

Here too was a pleasant gaggle of bodies. Captain Ladnok was wounded, her first mate wrapping up her shin. At her feet sat Regris, bound and gagged, two black eyes and a split lip…but alive. Keith exhaled.

Of the crew there were seven left, captain included. In the light of the low hanging lanterns she cursed.

“Put down your weapons,” she shuddered angrily, “and this one stay alive.”

Keith asked what then.

“Then I dump you in a rowboat without the oars.”

Lance chimed, “Charming. Won’t make us walk the plank?”

“Don’t give her any ideas, Lance.”

“You! _You,”_ and she pointed with her dagger, “you’re a fucking fool! All you omega are entitled blights on our society, you think you’re somebody just because you can sing and talk class? I changed my mind. I was going to take care of you but now…”

Keith stepped defensively in front of Lance.

Lance must have said something because she was shouting now: “I didn’t plan on hurting _anyone_ till you hired _freaks_ to _murder my crew!”_

“Your _crew_ pointed a gun at our faces!”

“There’s no reasoning with her, Lance.”

Captain Ladnok dragged Regris up to his knees by his torn hood. She poked a pistol beneath his chin. “You’re right. Not anymore, anyway.”

Keith shifted forward, tense, and the remaining crew that surrounded them jerked their rifles and cutlasses.

“One wrong move he gets lead where he should have brains!”

Keith didn’t dally after that. He thrust his swords into the wood of the deck. They stood on either side of him in salute. Lance’s apprehended shotgun followed.

“Better.” She released Regris. He fell in a hacking heap. “Take the lord to my rooms. Drown the others at first light.”

Someone yanked Lance from Keith’s side. _“No!”_

Keith turned, but was bludgeoned in the head for his trouble. While his brain rolled his hands were bound. A rope was tied around his ankles too, and something on the end of it that wouldn’t give no matter how Keith tugged at it: a weight, like a cannon ball.

_Fuck._

The last he saw of Lance he was thrown over an alpha’s shoulder, had drawn someone’s pistol and was getting his jaw slugged just as he fired it.

 _Fuckin’ spitfire,_ Keith thought with pride. _I’m so sorry._

He lost the fight against his nausea.

-

Lance stood in the captain’s quarters with a purple jaw and a broken lip. His eyes were bloodshot and murderous. One of his guards, a skinny beta boy, had a black eye. Each time Lance smiled at him he scowled.

Ladnok’s quarters were lit all around by a wall of glass. She had red curtains hanging from the rafters and symbols of opulence scattered on the desk, daybed and floor: cushions, books, instruments. He even had a potted plant and a globe. There was an engraved paperweight on the table.

Captain Ladnok stormed into her room: “ _You shot Geofry!”_

Lance blinked.

“He’s dyin from a _belly shot_ because of your shitty aim!”

“Clearly my aim wasn’t _that_ shitty.”

Ladnok came to him in two gargantuan steps and backhanded him with her whole being. Her knuckles caught the high of his cheek and he thought his eye full on popped out of the socket. He careened into her writing desk and the implements fell every which way in a clatter.

He swallowed his groan and tried to glare, but he couldn’t find his eyes to open them. She wrangled him onto the bed.

He reflexively kicked at the coarse hand that fell on his hip. He hit something, and she slapped his ass. Despite himself he cried out.

“I hear them call you _little prince,”_ she whispered. Whispering didn’t suit her. “Is that what you told them to call you when they spitroast you?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“That wasn’t why you bought them? You think we never hear you squealing on that mongrel’s cock?”

Lance opened his eyes and glared at her. She was jarringly gentle. “Everything is about sex with you alpha.”

“The kettle call the pot black.” She held his throat. “Your people did rape mine for generations.”

“So that’s all this is? Revenge? Might makes right? That doesn’t solve anything!”

“No, but it’ll make me feel _worlds_ better.”

Lance squeezed the paperweight hidden under a pillow.

The ship lurched.

The boy who was watching them pitched to the ground. Ladnok fell to her side. The ship groaned. Lance rolled to his feet. She grabbed him. “Where—”

With the momentum of turning to face her he smashed the paperweight into her temple. She crumpled without a sound. Without waiting to check if his work was done he ran, leapt over the stunned beta and made it to the stairs leading to the deck the same moment the _Blue Lion_ lurched again, this time to the opposite side.

It sounded like a battle had broken out overhead. Just as he scrambled up into the first light of dawn someone screamed, _“Pirates!”_

-

Regris was bleeding.

“I’ll live,” he wheezed. “Nothing’s more broken than my pride. Shattered. Obliterated.” He paused. “I think one of my ribs is a little fractured. Just a little bit.”

It was too dark in the hold for Keith to read his lips. They’d been thrown down here to stew, for whatever reason. Maybe Ladnok wanted them nice and angry before she threw them into the ocean.

“Keep talking to me, Reggie,” Keith rubbed the rope against the sharp edge of a crate. “Just keep talking to me.”

“Reggie? You haven’t called me Reggie in years.”

Keith rubbed his wrists.

“Y’know…there was this time when I thought we’d make a fruit garden.”

“Keep talking to me.”

“I was what, sixteen? I ate a plum and buried the pit at the back of the house we squatted in at the time—”

“Keep talking to me.”

“I am. And then we had to move. People kept dumping their sewage there. I went back there recently. It grew.”

“Keep talking, Regr—”

The ship lurched.

They were seated and the stock around them strapped down, so they only shifted a little with the pitch of the ship.

Keith’s rustling halted. “I think the pirates found us.”

“It’s probably daybreak by now.”

“Maybe we’re saved.”

“Kolivan would slap you for thinking that.”

“Kolivan would slap me for thinking that.”

Regris laughed and coughed. They listened to the scurry above them while Keith rubbed at his restraints with renewed resolve, but it was over long before he could succeed at little more than rope burn. It was a tense hour after that of muted sounds and bumps before light poured in from the distant door.

They winced.

“Captains! They had prisoners!”

And Regris and Keith were dragged into the day.

The sky was properly blue by then. Across the deck strangers were throwing buckets of seawater to get rid of the worst of the blood. They were richly, if practically, dressed, not what Keith was expecting of pirates.

In the _Blue Lion’s_ railing were dozens of grappling hooks that the pirate ship had apparently used to wench them in close. She now stood hull-to-hull with a massive black beauty with sails that touched the clouds and rigging so intricate he was surprised he didn’t find a spider at work among them. And there was supposedly a _fleet_ of these?

Lance’s little investment never stood a chance.

Captain Ladnok kneeled in front of the main mast. Three of her crew was left, Keith realized with a burst of satisfaction, but Lance was nowhere to be seen.

He was jostled and he growled at the woman who prodded him. She turned away but he caught what she said, “Captains, I think these are them—this one can’t hear!”

He frowned. A figure moved in front of them.

Now _that_ was an alpha! The mountain of woman dwarfed Ladnok, standing three heads over Keith and twice as wide as he was. She was all muscle and grace and she was _fabulous:_ Keith hadn’t seen such a happily heavy use of rogue and blush and lipstick and glitter and feathers since last year’s carnival! Her lips were green, her teeth were sharp, and under her open, heavy black coat with gold piping she wore trousers and shin long boots and a compass hanging like an amulet over a buxom chest.

“I hear you can read lips,” she said to Keith.

It made him wonder if she was vocalizing. “Sometimes,” he replied.

“I’m going to ask you yes or no questions.”

“Where’s the omega lord?”

She smiled a little meaner. “Answer my questions and I’ll tell you.”

He sulked, helpless. The woman who held him had grips of iron. They’d freed his feet but with Regris injured as he was he didn’t know how to escape _and_ find Lance _and_ get back to Voltron…

“Is it true that you took out half this boat’s crew?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that this crew shot at you first?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that the young man who hired this boat came here to find us?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. Where was she getting this information?

“Answer.”

“Yes.”

“Is it true that you came here because the little prince paid you?”

Keith’s eyes widened and his heart _zinged!_ at Lance’s pet name. He pawed at the floorboards restlessly. “Where is he?”

“Answer me first.”

Keith grit, “No, he didn’t pay us. We volunteered.”

“What the fuck for? Did you think you _weren’t_ going to get captured?”

“His plan counted on it,” Keith felt _helpless._ “This is what he wanted.”

She was still smiling. “And you just followed him into certain peril?”

Keith looked away. He wasn’t going to play her game anymore. His eyes razed the boat for shrapnel, a discarded sword, anything he could use to undo his ties…

…he was being led onto the pirate ship. He went willingly and kept Regris in his peripheral vision and Lance in his thoughts. Then they took Regris away.

He’d fainted in their arms apparently—Kolivan would hit him when he found out—and they were taking him somewhere they weren’t taking Keith. He kicked up a fight. He leapt and shouted, craning his neck telling them to not hurt him or they’d regret it, bring him back, leave him alone! _Leave him alone, he’s hurt!_

Two articulate hands gripped his shoulders.

Keith’s body recognized them before he did. He turned around, met Lance’s worried gaze, and didn’t believe it. He got beat up a fair bit, his eye and cheek were swelling, and he wore a long open coat of golden embroidery. His fingers slipped from Keith’s shoulders to his neck to his cheek. Keith stilled and he was finally released.

“You’re okay,” he realized Lance was talking to him. “You’re okay, Keith.”

Keith exhaled. “What…who did this to you?”

“It’s fine—”

“Did _she_ do this to you?”

“Keith, Yorakeith,” Lance led Keith into looking away from the amused pirate captain, “no, no. Zethrid isn’t going to hurt us. Regris needs medical attention and he’ll get it, we can find him later. For now you gotta promise me you won’t go Rambo on this ship if we let you go.”

“Rambo?”

Lance smiled. “When we get out of this I’m going to introduce you to movies of the old world.” He kissed him.

Keith, to his shame, had entertained the thought that he would never get to kiss Lance again. It was a blow more violent than a gunshot when Lance moved his lips against his, reassuring and chaste. Lance tasted of hurt and iron and Keith licked at his cuts. He was so _relieved_ he wept a little. Lance wiped at his cheeks affectionately.

“They’re _adorable,”_ a new character chimed. She sashayed up to Captain Zethrid’s arm and leaned there.

Dinky, willowy, possessing a misleading strength, if Zethrid were dressed for carnival this one was dressed to win the masquerade competition. Chaotically colourful, her skin shone bronze and her hair was an active kaleidoscope. She wore three pairs of earrings and two necklaces and six bangles and bracelets and bells on her ankles and among her belly beads. She was dressed to move where Zethrid was dressed to intimidate but her aura projected that she could be just as mean.

The moment his hands were free Keith wrapped them around Lance’s waist and eyed them suspiciously.

“Simmer down,” Lance tapped his cheek. “This is Captain Zethrid and Captain Ezor, co-leaders of the pirate flotilla. M’ladies, this is Yorakeith of the Marmora.”

Captain Zethrid inclined her head. “A pleasure.”

“He’s _so handsome,_ Lanceria!”

Keith grumbled. “Lance, I’m very confused.”

“Long story short, Zethrid and Ezor are old mates from the sugar war.”

Keith’s expression didn’t change.

Captain Ezor grinned. “I think that’s too short, Lanceria. C’mon. Let’s talk over breakfast.”

“B-but. Regris.”

“Regris?”

“The scary one,” Zethrid supplied with a smirk.

“Regris is in good hands,” Ezor insisted. “Our wife Narti was a teacher in medicine before the revolution.”

Scary one? Revolution? _Wife?_ He passively allowed Lance to drag him into the captains’ sleeping quarters and top up a plate with food he recognized was stored on the _Blue Lion._

He pieced together the story as follows:

They came from Narquod. Unlike other city-states that were run under the direct governance of the Altean Empire via Voltron-born viceroys, Narquod was a vassal state. The country was massive and couldn’t be won over by a mere show of force, so Voltron’s Army led personally by King Zarkon decided to force their submission by cutting off their trade with other nations, destroying trade ships going to or leaving Narquod.

“Sound familiar?” Ezor giggled.

Zethrid smiled, “We thought it would be to give Voltron a taste of her own medicine.”

Keith asked Lance to repeat, then asked, “But why?”

Lance said, “Because Voltron’s been increasing their demands from Narquod steadily for _decades_ and recently they passed laws that totally go against Narquod culture.”

“For example,” and Ezor learned to gesture to catch Keith’s attention before she spoke, “for example, alpha are second-class citizens in the Altean Empire but not in Narquod. There’s discrimination sure but it’s not something that’s _law._ Recently marriage to alpha was deemed illegal, totally dehumanizing people.” She pressed her hand to Zethrid’s lap under the table. “That meant that only Narti and I could get married and Zethrid would be our shared property. _Property._ It’s sick!”

“There’s more than that as well,” Zethrid continued. “New laws have affected the way we worship. Voltron believes in ancestral worship but we worship the spirits that inhabit everything. So when King Zarkon says he wants more lumber, more sugar, more gold, we stand at risk of destroying our native habitat. Our culture and belief is all about living together with nature, but no compromise is offered.”

Lance continued, “It’s not the first time this has come up either. The sugar wars from five years ago is when King Alfor raised the quota of unprocessed sugar that Narquod has to export to the capital. Narquod’s leaders replied _if you’re gonna do that then you’re gonna have to pay us_ and Alfor was all like _you’re a part of the empire we don’t have to pay you shit_ and Narquod was like _then we won’t give you anything_ and Voltron responded by shutting down Narquod’s borders for a year.”

“That was when we met Lanceria,” Ezor smiled.

“I was studying there,” Lance agreed. “I had like, three gold coins and a governess to my name and was stranded in a foreign country for Gregory knows how long. I couldn’t get a message out to my folks or anything. I went around playing my collapsible harp to get more income and Narti heard me one day and took me in.”

“Narti had just lost her sight. She was fighting a degenerative illness. She was depressed and heard this music made with a weird instrument…Lance perked her right back up.”

Keith was enchanted. He forgot to eat.

“I lived with them for the year but fell out of contact almost immediately after returning home. My moms didn’t want me fraternizing with a ‘rebel’ country.” He grinned suddenly. “When I heard reports that you guys dressed your crew up in bells and party masks I just _knew_ it was you. It’s straight out of the stories you’d tell Narti!”

Keith exhaled, “This is a lot to take in.”

“What part?” Ezort grinned. “The part that your employer is friends with rebels? Or that your monarchy is full of sociopathic pathological liars who’ve tricked the _entire empire_ into thinking they’re the hands God uses to wipe His ass?”

Keith grinned. “That I can believe. I’m just…amazed I didn’t know about this. I knew about the sugar wars but I didn’t know _why_ …so you’re cutting Voltron off from the rest of its Empire in rebellion? To what end?”

“We want independence from the Empire.”

Keith frowned. “After all that’s happened do you think that’s possible?”

“Lanceria said he could get us a personal appointment with the king.”

Keith looked at Lance wide-eyed.

Lance _seemed_ confident, but Keith had seen Lance confident for as many times as he’s seen him break down in tears.

“ _Which_ king?”

“It would have to be King Alfor,” Ezor remarked. “He’s the only one who’s shown sympathy for anyone.”

Zethrid looked unsure. “He’s also the one who instigated the sugar wars in the first place.”

“Zarkon is like if a child were raised in a prison yard and was suddenly elected its warden, he wouldn’t help us for shit.”

Keith drummed his fingers against his lap. When Lance touched his wrist, he held his hand.

Zethrid and Ezor were still arguing when the doors opened. Narti stepped forward. She was so dark she was almost blue, wore her hair short to the scalp and walked without so much as a whisper. She wore an armless vest and billowing slacks like her spouses and the majority of her crew, but she didn’t glitter like they did. If she were in a fight, Keith imagined, her opponents would never see her coming.

She clacked her nails against the doorway.

Zethrid and Ezor stilled at once.

Keith jumped when she signed. It was completely alien to him but it warmed him all the same. Silly as it was, _so it’s not only Marmora who use this language_ popped into his mind. He felt validated in a way he’d only felt in the presence of his family.

Zethrid stood, “That’s great! Keith, your scary friend is expected to have a full recovery!” She walked to Narti and swallowed her up in her gargantuan arms. “You are a _legend,_ my love!” And she kissed her.

“Why do you guys call him scary?”

“Oh,” Ezor laughed, “we heard that he beheaded several of the people who attacked him with his _teeth._ ”

“Fuck,” Keith scoffed in relief, “Reggie’s so extra…”

“I can’t wait to meet him!”

Narti then looked in Keith’s general direction, smiled, and said something.

“Would you like to see him?” Zethrid translated.

Keith jumped up. “Would that be okay?”

“He’s weak and tired, but I’ll allow it. Not for long though.”

“Thank you.” He moved but then he was dizzy and had to brace himself against the table. “What…”

“Keith! You’re bleeding!”

He was? When he took stock of himself his shoulder blazed to life. When…?

He collapsed.

-

The pirate wives hid their fleet in a rocky island a day’s sail from the capital.

“It’s a risk,” Zethrid grunted. “We got away with penning Voltron’s forces in because they can’t get far without our canons blowing them to bits like shooting fish in a barrel. But if they know we’re here they can corner us and do the same thing to us. So either Lance’s leg of our mission follows through or we’re all fucked.”

Narti asked, “You don’t trust him?”

“It’s not about trust,” she rubbed her cheek against Narti’s forehead. “It’s that too much can go wrong.”

Ezor leaned against Narti’s side. Her arm came around her shoulders. “What’s a revolution without risk?”

“Hm.”

Lance was out of earshot and watching the _Blue Lion_ when Keith rediscovered him. He lit up and pulled at his long braid to play with the end. “How’s your arm?”

It was in a sling. “It’s been better. I’m better off than Regris though. He’ll be in bed for weeks drinking fish water.”

Lance chuckled. “You think Kolivan would lend me any more guards?”

“Getting rid of me already?”

“Your right arm is literally out of commission.”

“I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Why do I doubt that??”

“I’m ambidextrous.”

“Kinda not the point!”

“Are you okay?” He offered his hand and Lance took it, fingers tracing his anxiously. “You fidget when you’re bottling something up.”

“Well, I mean, I _do_ have the liberty and lives of an entire country resting on my ability to bullshit a meeting with the most powerful men in our world. So.”

Keith frowned. “I thought you said you had a way.”

“I do. I never said it would work.”

Keith tore his hand away and Lance cried out a little. “No.” He pointed. To his shock, Lance stilled and listened. “I trust you, but you’re not keeping things from me anymore. Weeks ago you could have told us that you knew the pirates but you didn’t. And now you’re hiding something again like you’re afraid it won’t work. You’re going to tell me what it is.”

Lance brushed his hand out of his face. He looked haughty and cold all of a sudden. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m not your _help._ I’m your _friend._ And you need someone to listen to your worries right now.”

Lance’s brow flexed.

Keith didn’t doubt that Lance would speak to him. He’d chosen Keith to break down in front of twice already. Keith knew he was in a special position to support Lance.

Lance sighed and captured Keith’s hand again. “I didn’t tell you that I knew the pirates because I wasn’t sure. And even if I was sure I wasn’t sure they would either remember or like me. I hadn’t sent them a single correspondence in years after all: it’s by the grace of the Ancients that they forgave me and accepted me as rapidly as they did. It was a gamble.”

Keith nodded.

“And…now I’m gambling again and the stakes are way higher. Because if Allura doesn’t get us that audience with her dad—”

“Allura?” Keith interjected. “Allura as in _Princess_ Allura? First-born to Kings Alfor and Zarkon and sired by Princess Melenor of Arussia?”

Lance’s smile flattened into something apologetic and ashamed.

“How the fuck do you know _Princess Allura?”_

“The de Leone family is directly descended from one of the paladins who fought beside King Gregory in the war that founded Voltron. We’ve kept close ties with the royal family since, even married into it a few times.”

“So what, Allura’s like a cousin?”

“ _God_ I hope not. It’ll be really awkward marrying a cousin.”

Keith paused.

Lance bit his lip.

“You…are engaged to Princess Allura.”

“Stop saying her name like that.” He added quickly, “And _no_ we’re not engaged. It just so happens that she was one of the suitors that asked for my hand in marriage.”

“Holy shit.”

“It’s just one of those _marriage-for-convenience_ type things, y’know? I’m trained to navigate the high court and she’s been egged by her dads to take a spouse for years now…win-win.” He sucked his bottom lip into his teeth.

“You could _be_ the next king of the Altean Empire!”

Lance scoffed. “That’s an over glorified title, I’ve seen what goes into a day as king and _no thank you_. Allura has enough on her plate as it is managing the empire, keeping it running, picking up the pieces her fathers miss. She has a lot of power on her own.”

“Can she liberate Narquod?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. If she can, that’s great, because I’m sixty percent convinced she’d be on our side.”

“Only sixty?”

“On the other hand,” Lance ignored him, “if she can’t then we’ll have to go through Alfor. Alfor and Zarkon don’t see eye to eye and they’d sooner retaliate against Narquod than let go of a lucrative colony.”

Keith exhaled. Now that he shared Lance’s burden he wondered if he could breathe. “Gods, Lance.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re pretty fucking cool.”

He double-took. “What?”

“You’re pretty fucking cool.”

“It’s…nothing, I’m just. I’m just abusing the networks I was born with.”

“You weren’t born with the friendship you made with Zethrid, Ezor and Narti.”

“Which was complete coincidence by the way that shit only happens in badly written movies and badly plotted fanfiction.”

“What’s fanfiction?”

“Never mind.”

“And even if it is luck, so what? You’re doing something with it! I can imagine a lot of people would do the easy thing and marry Allura. But you’re out to free an entire _country.”_

Lance blushed miserably. “I might still fail.”

“With your luck? No way.”

Lance laughed and he looked twice as young and twice as small. Keith pinched his cheek and grinned.

-

Two weeks in and word had yet to get around that the strait was open. The waters were quiet. No-one dared see if they were still out there. Voltron’s bay was congested with half-rate warships and the rest of its floatilla was months away in the northeast in battle. Voltron was underdefended and quiet.

Keith arched a brow when Allura screamed, threw her arms around Lance, and kissed him. When Lance had described their friendship as _convenient,_ he didn’t imagine enthusiastic kisses and broad grins.

Allura was big for a beta. Not strapping, but tall. Lance could press his face in her breasts easily and he did as she hugged him. She was stunning too, though tired and drawn, and her hair that might have been impeccable some hours ago was loosening at the edges. Where it caught on her skin it was stringy with sweat.

“It’s so good to see a face that isn’t a self-serving denizen of hell!”

“I’m glad I brought Keith along then because you know me to be an absolute scoundrel.”

“Shut up, flirt,” and she knocked his shoulder.

Keith arched his other brow. This was the princess?

He’d seen her from afar once. She had been in one of those glittering gowns, smiling brightly as confetti rained down on her immaculate coiffures, and was waving a delicate wrist. She’d been dwarfed beside her fathers, Keith realized now, because back then he thought she was omega. Looking at her he still wasn’t totally sure.

“Keith, is it?” she offered her hand. “A pleasure to meet someone who can finally keep up with Lanceria. This is the first time I’ve heard he’s kept a guard on his payroll for more than a month!”

Keith winced at her strong hold. “To be fair, the majority of that time we were on a boat and I couldn’t run away if I wanted to.”

Allura threw her head back and let out peals of laughter that rattled the high heaven. Just to be certain the gods could hear her, she snorted too.

Keith stared in awe.

“Lanceria, he’s _darling!”_

“He’s not for sale.”

“A shame. Anyway, come. I only have one hour in my schedule before my attendant starts running me down for another meeting with the senate. _Ugh,_ those old bastards need to follow the example of the traditions they’re trying to revive, and die.”

Keith, at Allura’s back, pointed at her and looked at Lance incredulous and open-mouthed.

Lance replied with a brow wag and suppressed grin. He said, “Lu, I wish this was only a social call.”

“I figured it wasn’t. Wait until we’re alone before you speak to me.”

Servants came and prepared their tea and snacks in a whitewashed room of floral stucco and minimalist furniture. Keith, in his new black suit befitting of a guard of the de Leone family, admired the room from his vigil at Lance’s back.

“Oh,” Allura waved him down, “don’t do that. Please. Sit among us like a human being.”

Keith looked to Lance for affirmation.

“Why’re you looking at me? The princess told you to sit!”

“He’s _darling,_ Lanceria,” Allura grinned at him. “I’ve never known anyone to defer to someone else after I’ve given an order. Not since I was twelve, anyway.”

Keith blushed. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t! I love it. Down with the monarchy and all the stuffy bullshit carried along with it. I love my fathers, may the Ancients receive them with open arms, _but the day they die_ I am demolishing the institution they perpetuated. The slavery, the circus, the votes for the senate—it’s all rigged! And it was rigged by Senator Sendak’s great-great-great-great-grandmother!”

Keith grinned. He liked her. He could see why Lance liked her too.

“Lu,” and Lance leaned forward to press his hand to her knee, “I need your favor to change the course of history.”

She grinned again. She looked fiendish like that. “And what do you have to offer?”

“My sister’s virginity, if you want it.”

“You’re so crass,” Allura smirked. “But that’s a high price. Your sister hates royalty.”

“She hates the _idea_ of royalty. She’ll love you.”

“Oh, I see: so you’re finally playing matchmaker but at a price. You are a devious bitch.”

“Who do you think taught me?”

Allura smiled at Keith then, “Lance was the only one with whom I could have an entire conversation with in the subtext of what we were actually saying during our juvenile tea parties. Most of the others in the room thought we were being exceptionally kind when we were actually dragging them for their shitty lace dresses and over dark tans.”

“Fascinating,” Keith murmured wide-eyed.

“Well Lu? Will you help me?”

“What do you need, love?”

“Narquod’s independence and the emancipation of their alpha.”

“Oooh,” she pressed a hand to her heart and fell back in her seat as though struck. “That’s expensive.”

“You’re saying Veronica isn’t worth it?”

“Stop selling me your sister. I would happily do it even she wasn’t on the table. But I need to know why now, and why are _you_ asking me?”

Lance told her everything. Keith was impressed by the way Lance spoke without the sound effects. He was a good storyteller, and he was a trained orator too. Not a single word was wasted and not a single word was untrue.

“Have I forgotten anything Keith?”

“Just the bit that they’ll likely open their canons on the city if they don’t get what they want.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“So Voltron is being held at gunpoint.”

“We can ignore that bit.”

Keith looked at Lance so sharply Allura laughed again.

She said, “Unfortunately that’s not something I can do. While I can prepare the documentation, the reasons why—shy of extortion—and propose an alternative to Narquod’s submission, it would need my fathers’ stamp of approval. Fortunately if one of them signs off that will be enough. Unfortunately I can tell you right now that though King Alfor might be convinced, King Zarkon will not. He’d want Narquod to respect Voltron’s power. He doesn’t understand that we’ve lost plenty of that respect already.”

“Can’t we get Alfor’s approval without Zarkon?”

“In theory, yes. In practice my fathers don’t trust one another. They keep tabs on one another.”

“Well fuck.” Lance threw his face into his hands. “Aaaaahh, I need to think about this…my brain hurts…”

“The doors to the balcony are open, love.”

“Thanks, Lu.”

Keith followed him to the balcony.

Lance chuckled, “You don’t have to do that, dude.”

But Keith wasn’t paying attention. On a distant hill between an abandoned villa and a flowering tree was an untrustworthy glint. Keith yanked Lance down just as he crossed the threshold. The door jamb where his head had been in line of seconds before shattered into splinters.

Allura threw herself to the ground. “Guards! _Guards!”_

They piled into the room and made their way to the couple tangled on the ground.

“Not them,” she said. “A sniper!”

Keith told them the bearings. Two hurried off and the other two stayed to escort them to another room. This one was windowless. A screen door separated them from the guards just beyond, still on vigil.

“I’m sorry,” she offered her hand. “You could have been killed.”

Lance shook his head and took her hand.

“You’re shaking, love.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Attempts are made often but rarely are they that adventurous. They’re usually dispersed long before I hear of it. Today was very rare.” She said: “They were after me, not you. No-one knows that you’re here today.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Lu.”

“They’ll catch the sniper, fret not. And I will see to it personally that they are thoroughly punished.”

Keith asked, “Why are people trying to kill you?”

“She’s the _princess,_ Keith.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

Lance looked exasperated. Then he remembered Keith didn’t share his education: his knowledge of the world was through what he and his families knew from rare missions or stolen glimpses of the city. He mouthed an apology.

Allura answered, “Well, where should I start? I’m the princess, and there are dozens of denizens who would love to be first in line for Voltron’s crown in my stead. I’m also more like King Alfor than King Zarkon, so conservatives are threatened by my ascension. Never mind the general complaints that I’m not doing enough for the Empire, or stragglers from distant kingdoms we’ve conquered—like Narquod—hoping to upset the balance of our world established by Altea by seeing my head on a pike. There are many other reasons I’m sure.”

Keith hummed. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s the world I was born in. I’m grateful to have friends like Lanceria who prove to me that the world is worth fighting for.”

“You’re making me blush, Lu.”

“Hm,” she giggled and brought his fingers to her lips. “I’ll need to get going soon. The meeting with the senate…”

“That’s _still_ going on? Despite the attempt on your life?”

“Well, I wasn’t shot, was I?”

Keith stared.

“You’re free to stay as long as you wish, my friends. Lance, I’ll get the papers together. I can have them prepared as early as the end of next week.”

“Fast!”

“Yes, well, I’ve had years of practice of producing documents for my fathers. I know how to present them with information by now. But I remind you, I can do very little more than that. Convincing King Zarkon will be your job.”

“Can you arrange a meeting with him?”

“An audience with the king is nigh impossible, even for me. I’ll tell you a secret though: my father _adores_ the gladiator battles. Boorish stuff in my opinion but what can I do? Tonight he’ll be having a private auction for the best gladiators in the city. Butter him up when he’s at his happiest. Seed ideas into his head and make him think he came up with it on his own. Whatever it is that you do.”

Lance grunted, “You talk like this guy isn’t your _father.”_

“I love him dearly, may the Ancients receive him with open arms, but as much as he’s been a great father he’s an awful ruler and a dangerous one if he doesn’t realize that himself.”

“Do I smell a coup on the wind?”

“Now that’s an idea.” She grinned, leaned forward and kissed him delicately on the mouth, then stood. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You are a goddess, Allura.”

“I know. It was a pleasure to meet you, Keith.”

It was just then that he realized the princess of the empire only knew him by Lance’s moniker for him. He wasn’t sure he liked it very much. “Thank you princess, but I’d like you to know my real name. It’s Yorakeith.”

“Yorakeith!” she repeated, “An enchanting name, thank you for telling me.” She shook his hand. “You’re free to stay for lunch, both of you, but you won’t see hide or tail of any of the royal family there.”

“Thanks, Allura. You are a goddess, Allura.”

She made a face and left them alone.

Without further ado, Lance tossed himself into Keith’s lap. Keith felt him groan.

“What’s the matter now?”

“King Zarkon is the proverbial hardass. If you went into the dictionary and looked up _traditionalist, chauvinist,_ or _set-in-stone-with-a-pipe-up-his-ass_ you’ll see a picture of King Zarkon.”

“What’s a dictionary?”

“It’s a book,” Lance resisted the temptation of looking surprised. “It’s a book that has a list of all the words in a language and their meanings.”

“ _All_ the words?”

“Well, the majority. Enough to be proficient in the language at least.” He swallowed. “Don’t uh…don’t take this the wrong way, but can you read?”

Keith smirked and put his one hand on Lance’s belly. “I can’t read as well as a certain blue-eyed aristocrat but I puzzle out letters and street signs.”

Lance laughed a little but it was empty. He never saw literacy as a privilege before.

“Will convincing King Zarkon really be that hard to do?”

“The man’s an unrepentant capitalist. Unless I offer him something shiny to distract him or something of equal value he’s as mobile as a mountain.”

Keith didn’t immediately reply.

Lance peeked at him, wondering if he had to repeat something. “What’s up?”

“Basically you need to offer him a country to replace Narquod.”

“Basically.”

“But he’s already getting that new territory up north.”

“Irrelevant. He wants to have his cake and eat it too.”

“But if he doesn’t let Narquod go, then Voltron will continue to suffer strangled off from the rest of the world. It wouldn’t matter how many colonies he wants because he won’t have any if Voltron falls.”

Lance perked up. “You might be onto something there.”

“Really?”

“The idea needs more buffing out but…mm. I’ll need to talk to my dad. He’s wise about stuff like this.”

“I thought you didn’t have a father.”

“My sire,” Lance corrected. “I call him dad because that’s how I see him, he had a heavy hand in raising us, he wasn’t rented out from another high-brow family, y’know?”

Keith gave him a blank, and mildly disgusted, look.

Lance sighed, “I have a lot of things to teach you about the upper crust world.”

“A part of me doesn’t want to know.” He rubbed Lance’s tummy.

“ _Mm_ , that’s nice, keep rubbing. You seemed to take to Allura okay, though.”

“I like Allura. She’s not what I expected.”

“She’s a diamond in the rough. She’s too good for this dump.”

“ _This_ _dump_ being the imperial palace?”

Lance smirked, “Don’t be fooled by the gold leaf and alabaster busts. This place is a slum.”

Keith sighed, relaxed for the first time in a while. He had been hyper vigilant since they left the bay and made their way to the palace. Keith thought one couldn’t just waltz up to the gates and announce they had a meeting with the princess but clearly Lance was in a league of his own.

No, it was more than that. Allura and Lance had a genuine, strong friendship. It was clear that it was the quality of the relationship that he forged with her was what made the difference between waiting two hours for an audience and waiting two months. And the same was true of the Narquodian pirate wives: Lance had an authentic connection to these people. And, of course, to Keith and the Marmora now too.

Keith liked him. He had stirrings for something more but that aside, Lance was a charming—and powerful—friend to have.

Lance tapped his cheek and he looked down in question. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re not intimidated, are you?”

“By what? By who?”

“Allura. O-or me.”

Keith smiled and squashed Lance’s face in his hand. “Why would I be intimidated by you?”

Lance bat his hand away. “I mean, since you’ve known me you’ve rubbed elbows with rebellious pirates and tyrannical princesses, and soon we’re going to walk into a secret slave trade ring to barter with one of the most powerful men alive.”

He squashed Lance’s face in his hand. “Do you expect me to look at you differently?”

“ ‘thought you might. Mos’d do, when they fffigure out what I do for a living.”

“A living? What do you mean? What’s your job?”

Lance bat his hand away and glared. “I’ve been _doing_ my job. All this time.”

Keith frowned.

“Never mind. You’ll get it as you watch me work.”

“How long do you expect to have me as your bodyguard, little prince?”

Lance heard a _little brat_ in there somewhere. “May I remind you that you volunteered yourself for the role?”

Keith blushed.

Lance pressed a kiss to his fingers and then his fingers to Keith’s lips, an echo of Keith’s gesture when they made love and Keith burst into colour in remembrance—was this the first time that he recalled how sweetly Lance shivered when they were still one body?

“Thanks for being here, Yorakeith.”

Keith just barely swallowed a submissive moan. “Of course, Lanceria.”

-

In the private rooms of another isolated villa, Sendak glared. He thought it would be a personal affair but six teams and their monolithic alpha wandered the waiting room.

The room was cavernous, equipped with three king sized rugs of impeccable detail and fifteen tall narrow windows that showed the bottomless night outside. Chairs fitted with plush read seats lined the walls. There was the smell of food on the wind and music beneath the chandelier, but they seemed to come from no one place.

Jenka was here, to Sendak’s surprise.

“He’s been throwing himself into gambling to reclaim his wealth,” Haxus murmured at Sendak’s side.

Sendak grunted, then dismissed him from his thoughts. He admired instead the other alpha that were his competition. He did not attend the matches as frequently as their king who was an overzealous aficionado of the tradition, and he did not recognize the majority who dared rival Myzax.

His eyes settled on a trio on the far side of the room. All women, the leader of the troupe wore a dark sensuous dress and an obscuring veil. Her velvet gloves poured over her elbows and her skin was dark enough to be mistaken for blue. On her arm was her opposite: tall, strong, bright and alert. Behind them was a buxom alpha, hair fringed pink and humongous arms akimbo. They looked alien and didn’t socialize.

“Haxus. Who are they?”

“I don’t recognize them.”

“Find out.”

“Yes, senator.”

“Wait—” he found purchase on Haxus’ elbow. “Who is that?”

He was a child. He was long limbed with brown skin. He wore a boat-neck form fitting shin-long dress of viscose and elastic. His earrings were unusually bright blue as though they possessed an internal glow. He was accompanied by two Marmora, both impeccably dressed: the obscenely tall one stood behind him with his arms folded and brilliant white hair in a coiffure. The other was quiet and sharp-eyed. When he glanced in Sendak’s direction Sendak resisted the compulsion to look away.

“I’m unsure about his companions, but that is most certainly a de Leone.”

“What? Are you certain?”

“Absolutely, my lord. As for his companions…” Haxus narrowed his eyes.

“What is a member of the old family doing consorting with those dirty gangsters?”

Haxus had no time to reply. The giant red doors opened, revealing none other than the King Zarkon.

He was smaller in person. He was stout and firm. He had hard, sharp facial features. He stood like the foundations of his empire were steeped in his shoulders and spine. His small eyes were narrow, and his teeth were perennially unsheathed. He did not dress flashily, but the quality of his wine red robes were second to none.

“Welcome!” his voice boomed. Did the chandelier shake? “I’m happy to receive you and happier still to broker a trade. Come in!”

And so they shuffled in. Sendak had the unusual pleasure of being seated beside the de Leone. The kid was smiling like he knew someone’s secret. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees. Sendak levied an unimpressed look with the littler Marmora, who smelled beta, who stared at him.

Irritated: “Can I do something for you?”

The de Leone turned at his voice. He smiled. “Senator Sendak,” he offered his hand. “Hello! Fancy meeting you here!”

He forced himself to be civil. “Good evening, de Leone. Likewise. Never thought I’d see a member of your _left-wing_ family in a setting like this.”

“The name’s Lanceria,” he winked. “My moms hate the circus but they don’t understand that this is where all the people who are _somebodies_ are. And I have no interest to die a _nobody_.”

“That’s why you’re here, then? To forge connections?”

“And if I get to see beautiful people get all sweaty as they spar, that’s nice too.”

Sendak’s eyes rolled up to the alpha behind Lance’s chair at the change in topic.

Crisply: “Do you like what you see, senator?”

“All due respect, de Leone, isn’t your contender a little…old?”

Lance’s smile turned serpentine. “Those are the best ones. _They know what they’re_ _doing_.” He licked his lips.

Sendak turned away, disturbed, missing entirely Lance roll his eyes or Keith’s embarrassed scowl or Kolivan’s suppressed grin.

On the shallow semi-circular stage King Zarkon welcomed them again. In order to choose his next Champion, he instructed, each alpha here would fight in pairs one after the other. “There is a time limit of five minutes. If someone taps out or receives an injury they are forfeit, and their sponsors are dismissed to the buffet. Otherwise they go to the next round. The winner becomes my personal gladiator, and in exchange for losing such a lucrative investment, the sponsor is awarded a certain sum, a replacement alpha, and a boon.”

Lance kept his face neutral. A boon! That’s convenient. If they win, then they could simply ask Zarkon to give up on Narquod. But that would be at the cost of Kolivan’s or Zethrid’s freedom. It wasn’t an option of course but _fuck_ was it so nearly there that Lance salivated a bit.

Jenka asked, “Who goes first?”

“You and Sendak,” King Zarkon replied gleefully.

Jenka was white as a sheet as his contender stepped forward.

The quartermaster and senator had a falling out recently, Lance learned during his impromptu research. They had been chummy during the years Sendak led campaigns to capture what would become the city-state of Balmera. Whatever happened between them had led Sendak to flood the market with goods and services that Jenka had, until then, maintained a monopoly on thanks to the senator’s help. With his warehouses bursting and his profits falling into the red, he was desperate to sell to the first available buyer: Senator Sendak. The quartermaster had barely survived the subsequent divorce and apparently resorted to gambling to win back a fraction of his fortune.

“That’s cruel,” he thought of Zarkon pitching them together.

Sendak heard him and thought the same, but for an entirely different reason.

The alpha Jenka had scrapped together was malnourished and jaundiced. He swayed unnaturally and was curiously flushed and had bloodshot eyes.

“He’s drugged,” Sendak whispered.

Jenka reddened at the accusation but said nothing.

Myzax stepped onto the platform. _He_ was the picture of the quintessential healthy alpha. He loomed higher than the heavens. Lance could fit in each arm twice, he figured. His muscles did not bulge out of his skin as Jenka’s alpha’s did: that meant he was well fed, well watered, and strong.

Keith thought, _this’ll be a short fight._

And it was. Jenka’s alpha threw himself forward to grab himself around Myzax’s middle to…to what? Throw him over his head? His arms couldn’t fit around his waist! Myzax grunted, bowed to pick up his opponent from under his knees and threw his body weight into him. The alpha was unconscious at once.

King Zarkon cackled like a child who won the bid on the candy store. “Oh! We have a winner!”

Jenka had leapt to his feet in outrage.

“You may go ahead to the buffet line, Quartermaster Jenka. Or you may find your alpha in the infirmary.”

Lance closed his eyes, but the alpha’s flat, bruised chest and bleeding nose and flat eyes stayed in his memory. He was dead. He felt two hands, each disproportionately sized, squeeze each shoulder. He breathed through his friends’ support, and returned to his neutral smile.

Jenka, who’d been rendered ill, had to be escorted to the adjacent room where the smells of food and sounds of music were loudest.

Sendak laughed. “Who’s next then? Or should we just get it over with and have everyone face my Champion at once?”

Myzax made quick work of two more competitors until only Zethrid and Kolivan remained to challenge him.

Kolivan’s hand on Lance’s shoulder squeezed once and eased—Lance’s heartrate went up—“You see his weakness, don’t you darling?”

Lance side-eyed Ezor.

She grinned as she translated Narti’s pinched gestures: “Do not hold back, love.”

Zethrid bowed her head. “Of course, my lady.”

Lance smiled. “How confident you are, stranger.” They were putting on quite the show.

“Why would we be here if we were anything less?”

Zethrid, unfortunately, was smaller than Myzax. The _world_ was smaller than Myzax. But the moment she shifted Lance could see what the others alpha lacked. They did not have Zethrid’s technique or confidence. Her eyes were keen as she approached her prey. She could take a hit! She did not bleed.

Somehow—it was all so fast—somehow she got a hold of Myzax’s arm and kicked a leg out from beneath him and and…and then he was in the air and _slammed_ into the ground—the stage groaned in protest—and her elbow aimed for his—

_Crack!_

Myzax howled. The white stage was drizzled with his blood. Lance closed his eyes again, but opened them at Keith’s and Kolivan’s squeezes. Zethrid surveyed her work in lazy triumph. Myzax warred against the women who dragged him to the infirmary.

 _Not quite according to plan,_ Lance frowned. Neither he nor Narti were supposed to _win._ It was in their interest to win Zarkon’s intrigue, but to lose. They probably figured that nothing would catch the king’s eye more than a notable gladiator being downed with three calculated moves.

But now, unfortunately, either Zethrid or Kolivan would be named King Zarkon’s new Champion unless they both defected at the same time, and they couldn’t do that—

“Takashi, take his place.”

All eyes swiveled to Senator Sendak. He sat coolly as if he didn’t just watch his best fighter fail. The alpha at his side, whom Lance’s eyes has skimmed over dismissively, he now took in more carefully.

He just capped six feet: small for an alpha. He looked strong, he looked trained, but he didn’t look like a _gladiator._ He was wide-eyed. “Sena—”

“Did I stutter, alpha?”

Ezor turned to their king and referee. “Can he do that?”

King Zarkon chuckled from his dark corner. “Nothing in the invitation said that you were dissuaded from bringing multiple alpha, just that you bring your best.”

Lance’s heart hammered. _Myzax_ he knew. _Myzax_ he was familiar with. While watching the man in action in person had been horrifying, it was within his realm of expectation. Based on accounts, he knew that with Zethrid’s and Kolivan’s respective talents they would be safe and minimize injury.

But this unnamed alpha?

He dragged his feet to the platform. He tossed aside his jacket. His shirt was armless beneath, his pants flattering against his full ass and thighs. His skin was sunkissed and his hair black as midnight. A cruel scar cut across the bridge of his nose. He was handsome. He took up a fighting stance and Lance thought, _shit._

Zethrid did not rush him. She feinted attacks and observed his reactions. Takashi dodged coolly. He watched her right back, his guard up, his footwork impeccable. He didn’t skip but he did flow. He was smooth. He was quick!

Lance glanced at the senator. He was less excitable than when Myzax had been on the stage, but he was also utterly unconcerned. That spooked Lance.

Zethrid threw a powerful wing. Takashi not only dodged it, he directed her momentum past him. In the half second that she stumbled he grabbed her, _crawled onto her,_ swung himself around and— _WHAM!—_ Zethrid was driven face first into a supporting pillar of the stage.

It was strictly ornamental, thank god, because Zethrid crumbled through it as though it were made of flour and water. Her blood was vivid against the marl and chalk.

Lance winced.

“Good work, Takashi.”

Takashi looked unamused. Nor did he take pleasure in his win as Myzax had, grinning and presenting. Instead he ducked his head and offered Zethrid a hand to stand. She looked at him oddly as she accepted that hand and bobbed her head before backing away. She would remember his face.

“Confidence means nothing if it’s misplaced, stranger,” the senator pitched to the air.

Narti stood, dabbed at Zethrid’s bleeding nose and lip, and didn’t offer Sendak as much as a parting glance as they retired to the buffet.

The senator sneered at her back then chuckled in Lance’s direction. “You and me, de Leone. Do you stand by your earlier claims?”

Lance kept his face forward and smiled. He turned his head and tapped on Kolivan’s knuckles. Kolivan bowed to hear Lance whisper: “If you don’t want to do this, tell me and I will forfeit. If you win, it will be very hard getting you away from Zarkon.”

Kolivan squeezed his shoulder. “Do you need me to win?”

“No. I need you to be interesting.”

“Will a draw do?”

A draw was risky. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

Kolivan squeezed his shoulder and went to the stage. King Zarkon’s eyes glimmered from the corner. “De Leone,” he spoke softly, but the voice of a king carried.

Lance stood and curtsied.

“Yours is a face I did not expect to see on this side of the fence. To what do I owe the honor?”

Keith shivered at Lance’s responding grin. It was downright predatory. He replied, “We can discuss that over my boon, Your Majesty.”

Senator Sendak curled his upper lip.

King Zarkon chuckled. “We will see.”

Kolivan was on the stage by then. He inclined his head to Takashi. Takashi, surprised, nodded back and assumed his stance. For a moment the spectators only heard their own breathing and rustling clothes. In the next moment Kolivan and Takashi were grappling. In the next Takashi was on the ground and Kolivan leapt back to avoid his sweep.

It was silent again.

Keith exhaled in horror. Who _was_ this guy? Kolivan might have been pulling his punches but this stranger was leaving no openings.

Another scuffle and they broke apart. Another scuffle and they broke apart. No-one had drawn blood. No-one was tired.

Senator Sendak hummed. “I don’t recognize the technique your alpha uses, de Leone.”

“Lanceria,” Lance replied.

Sendak waited, but when Lance offered no more he scowled.

Another scuffle and they broke apart. Each engagement was getting longer, faster and a touch more brutal.

Suddenly King Zarkon said: “Sendak wins.”

Lance jumped. Keith looked up, eyes narrowed.

Senator Sendak side-eyed the king as the alpha broke apart. “Not that I’m complaining, but isn’t that a touch premature?”

King Zarkon chuckled and got to his feet. “Your alpha bleeds, de Leone.”

Kolivan touched his cheek reflexively. When he pulled away there were little droplets on his fingers. The spot had been burning him for a few moments after Takashi’s thumbnail grazed him during a quick left hook he barely dodged.

He exhaled, impressed with his opponent’s use of the rules. Just by drawing blood he won: he didn’t _need_ to crack a nose open if he could slice the skin instead. Clever! He wanted to praise his creativity but Lance’s warning to be silent unless spoken to and Takashi’s haunted expression belayed him.

The expression dissolved into apathy as Senator Sendak clapped. Intriguingly he didn’t look happy either. All the same he smiled. “The old broom may know the corners but the new broom sweeps clean!”

Keith rolled his eyes. _I’ve never known a man so in love with the sound of his own voice._

Lance received Kolivan with a brilliant, relieved grin. “You did super well! Let’s get some food in you.”

Kolivan arched a brow. “I could get used to this,” he signed to Keith, “does he pamper you as well?”

Keith blushed and didn’t reply.

“Congrats on your win, Senator,” Lance said and offered his hand.

Senator shook it. “You’re a sweet loser, Lanceria.”

“Who said I lost? That food smells _delicious.”_

And with Keith on his left and Kolivan at his back, he slipped into the dining hall able to breathe again.

-

Kolivan mumbled, “I’m capable of patching myself up, little prince.”

Lance shushed him and dabbed ointment on his cheek. “Keith said you trained him, and if he’s any indication you’d just leave this to heal on its own and scar.”

Kolivan didn’t even try rebuke. He drank the alcohol Keith brought him.

“Ah! Don’t _move!”_

“Still enjoying being pampered, Kolivan?”

“Very much. It’s been a long time since I’ve been doted on by a beautiful omega.”

Lance blushed but his expression didn’t shift. “There you are.”

“Thank you, little prince.” He ignored Keith’s bothered expression.

“By the way,” and he took the other goblet Keith held for him, “not that I would have answered the senator if I knew, but what _is_ the martial art that you guys use? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Keith sat on Lance’s free side as Kolivan spoke and signed, “Do you know who the Marmora are?”

“You mean your history? I know that you are descendants of a city-state called Daibazaal, one of the empire’s first states. It was growing in power and gearing to take control of the empire itself before it was bombed on orders of Queen Allura the First. The people who survived were discriminated against ever since.”

“There is more. Daibazaal was a city of its own right before Voltron’s leaders sought to control it. We had many technologies that are a staple across the empire now: internal plumping, aqueducts that crest our mountains, a functional sewage system that withstood centuries, dentistry…some stories say Voltron’s leaders attacked Daibazaal _because_ of its technological wealth.”

“Sounds like us.” Lance sipped his wine.

“When Voltron succeeded in gaining control of the city they enslaved our people.”

Lance sighed, “Sounds like us.”

Kolivan smiled mirthlessly. “In order to win back our freedom, we decided to practice how to fight. After a day’s work we disguised our training in dance. We developed the technique since, but it was from the dance-fight we have the martial technique we have today.”

“It’s a beautiful story if only it didn’t end so sadly.”

“I don’t think the story has ended sadly. We are still writing the story.” His fingers licked at Lance’s chin with a kinder smile. “You’re writing our story too.”

Keith leveled Kolivan an unimpressed glare over the bashful Lance’s shoulder.

A shadow fell over them.

“I see you fared better than me against that little monster,” Zethrid laughed boisterously, one fist on her hip and the other on Ezor’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to see it myself! Was he a tough bastard?”

“We got away luckier than you—you look like a statue come to life! How do you feel?”

“Fucking sore, the little beastie threw me _hard!”_

The six of them were a spectacle: three strangers, two Marmora and the youngest son of political icons outspoken about King Zarkon’s malpractices. As Lance laughed at Narti’s jokes he noticed the others milling and looking and gossiping. Unlike them, their alpha were either dismissed or in the infirmary. They sent an odd message as a result.

Keith whispered, “They’re watching us from the corner of their eyes.”

Lance nodded. “Good.”

Ezor frowned. “So now what, Lanceria? We followed your cues but we’re no closer to getting that audience with King Zarkon.”

“I’ve watched my mothers dance around arrogant omega like him for years. Just trust me.”

When King Zarkon appeared again it was much later than his guests anticipated. He looked unhappy as he made a clear path to Lance’s coterie. Reflexively they stood and bowed their heads.

“Good night, Lanceria. I take it my daughter told you where to find me tonight.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Lance lied obviously, “I’ve always wanted to gamble on fighting alpha.”

“Hm. And who are your compatriots?”

“I am pleased to introduced Lady Narti, silk trader from Narquod. She has developed a new material out of the crystalized mucus of V’kar mollusks and wants to start a niche market in Voltron.”

“A pleasure, m’lady. Your venture sounds exciting.”

Ezor translated: “As fitting as the times we live in.”

King Zarkon arched a brow. “And your champion was fantastic. She took out a top competitor after only minutes of observation.”

“My love has fought for battle before. Fighting for pleasure is just a game.”

He blinked at the pet name but then remembered, _right, they used to marry in threes._ With that opinion he smiled politely and watched the Marmora over Lance’s shoulder.

“What interesting company you keep. Is your family aware of your connections?”

Lance smiled. “My family is a den of incurable gossips. They know.”

He scoffed and offered his elbow. “Walk with me, Lanceria.”

Lance took his welcome without a backward glance.

King Zarkon led Lance to the outside. It was a spread of stone tiles that disappeared bit by bit into the foliage and the darkness.

“Did Reyner of Olkarion design your summer residence?”

“Trust a de Leone to have an eye for art and architecture. Yes, she did.”

“It’s less about having a keen eye and more that Reyner’s _Dissolving into Nature_ series is distinctive.”

“Humility doesn’t suit you.” He stopped. “Why are you _really_ here?”

Lance watched the moon. There was only a slice left over from last week. “I was aiming for your boon.”

“Hm. Is that related to how you convinced the Marmora to give you their best mercenary? Had you won he’d be my slave—I can’t imagine that prideful race agreeing to such a thing willingly. Had you bribed them?”

“Nah, they just like me.”

King Zarkon shook his head. “Don’t toy with me Lanceria: I’ve had too much experience with people thinking they’re smarter than me. You’ll just succeed at pissing me off. Tell me why you’re here.”

“I want Narquod to be granted independence from the Altean Empire.”

King Zarkon faced him fully. “Is that what you promised the _silk trader?”_

“No. It’s what I said I would _try_ to give them before they waged an all out war against Voltron.”

“The fleet that had us penned in until recently was their doing.”

Lance nodded.

“And their withdrawal was your doing?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And how did you manage that?”

“They’re my friends. I just asked them to.”

King Zarkon didn’t look like he believed him. “Is there anything about me that makes you think I would give up on such a lucrative corner of my empire?”

“No, but I don’t think you’d want to see Voltron get blown straight to wimsley either.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not from _me.”_

“I see. So I either give up a breadbasket of food and minerals or risk watching Voltron die…”

“It won’t be a quick death either. They’re smart. They have tactics.”

“Why do they want independence so badly that they procure an army to face me?”

“The demands the crown has set them goes against their traditions, and enforcing the law of enslaving alpha is ripping families apart. That’s just the beginning. The ramifications grow each day.”

King Zarkon was quiet for a moment. Lance wondered if he could feel his own pulse strumming through where his hand was hooked in his bulky elbow. He was nervous as heck—he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Do you know what Sendak’s boon was?”

“If I had to guess…maybe another campaign launched to the north so that he could be a war hero again.”

King Zarkon laughed a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak negatively of someone.”

Lance joked, “You still haven’t.”

“Well. You’re wrong: he asked for his alpha back.”

“Myzax?”

“The little one that trumped your Marmora. He’s an incredible fighter. He’s small but he’s swift, powerful for his size, and he’s creative. His style changes according to each rival.”

Lance could see where this was going. Zarkon had sunk his teeth into the idea of Takashi and now Sendak was saying he wanted him back? The king did not like being toyed with.

“I’ll grant your boon, Lanceria.”

Lance jumped. He wasn’t sure what to say. It was…too _easy._

“Sendak is my old student and he mistakes that because of that I still favour him. Money and misplaced pride have made him stupid. But you are like my daughter: you’re going to change our future. I am investing in you. Do not disappoint me.”

Lance exhaled, sick and exalted. “Of course not.”

King Zarkon returned him to his friends.

-

Lance’s debut party was insane.

Zethrid was drunk within an hour. Her forthrightness was intimidating to Voltron folk born and raised, accustomed to restrained and invisible alpha. A handful outright glared or left, and Lance thought the de Leone gallery was all the better for it.

“Narquod is about to become a friend. Our equal. If there’s anyone who responds to that with xenophobia is in this room then we’re in the wrong room.”

Veronia knocked her brother’s arm. “Listen to you! Who are you and what have you done with Lanceria!?”

“I’m nineteen now, V. I gotta look ahead, grow up.” Knocking his drink back changed his tune, _“Ugh,_ this tastes _awful!_ What is it??”

“It’s champagne.”

“It’s _rude_. A cup of strawberry juice over here, please and thank you!”

Veronica laughed. “Some adult!”

He leaned on her shoulder and she wrapped her arm around him. They surveyed the room of friends: Marmora, pirates and Voltron’s well-to-do milling in the same space. “Why can’t the whole world look like this?”

“What, like a lovefest on the verge of an orgy?”

“Like an _interethnic_ love fest. There’s no hatred or panic because the way we cut our bread is different. Just interest and conversation. I never understood it.”

“You’re better than a lot of us. Some people live for being better than others. There’s no rhyme or reason about it.”

Lance hummed.

“But you’re the guy who _made history._ You emancipated a country from the Altean Empire—no-one’s ever done that!”

“Daibazaal won their independence.”

“For all of three days. All goes well Narquod doesn’t share the same fate…”

But those weapons of mass destruction were dismantled and buried in a secret location generations ago. So far as the world knew, bombs were a magic of the past.

“Enough of that deep and dreary shit. Tell me about the man who can’t take his eyes off you.”

“I can’t help it V, I’m a god in a mortal plane—”

“No, I meant what I said literally.”

“What?”

“Long wild hair, scar on his cheek, he keeps glaring at anyone who tries to come over here and wish you congrats on your debut…”

Lance flushed. He curled into her shoulder. “What the hell. Is he really doing that?”

“When you deserted us for several weeks and dad said that you found a lover we thought he was joking. We shouldn’t have doubted him, he’s always had the best instincts.”

Lance pulled away from her. “He’s not my—”

She yanked him right back. He crashed against her breast. “Lie to me again and I’ll reacquaint you with my pits.”

“My lovely bitch, our high most priest would lie to God if he got a whiff of your—wait no no don’t— _AAAUUGHFFTTHPSTH!”_

Keith was standing in the least used doorway. It offered him a full vantage of the warm, stuffed gallery, and put him at a great position to ward off any young lord or lady who smelled horny on main and aimed their feet in Lance’s direction.

He was so used to Lance sneaking up on him that he neither moved nor startled at the calloused hand to his shoulder. He accepted the offered goblet automatically. “What is this?”

“Champagne. You’ll love it.”

“I’m not good with alcohol.”

“So what? Get drunk away. You don’t have to be on high alert.”

“A Marmora must always be alert.”

“Yikes you really _were_ trained by Kolivan. He just told me the same thing.”

Keith met his eyes sharply. “You tried to get Kolivan drunk?”

“…no…why? Is he a clingy drunk?”

“Is that what you’re after?”

“You’re so defensive. I just want everyone to have fun. And follow me: I want to show you my room.”

“But your party…”

Lance clasped his hand over Keith’s wrist and pulled him up a stairwell. The lights were colder in these sparsely populated halls. On occasion they passed a guard dressed in de Leone colours, the uniform Keith wore when acting as Lance’s personal guard.

Lance’s room was decently far away.

“This place is a palace.”

Lance chortled. “It’s got nothing on the imperial palace but…yeah, it’s pretty big. This used to be owned by a corrupt vizier. He was aiming to have fifty rooms, twelve kitchens, twenty restrooms, two bath houses—”

“In the name of Willow!”

Lance laughed. “The project was never completed. The extra space is for live-in staff and their families, guards included.”

“It sounds like a little city.”

“It is. I thought this was the whole world when I was a kid. Here’s my room.”

Lance’s room was…humble. It was ten steps in any direction and had a door that led to a personal bathing room. Windows engrossed the wall facing them, screened by thin curtains, and there was one double bed dressed in a mosquito net with lace trim. Bows decorated the wall adjacent to the door. Keith stared at them in interest before taking a turn around the room peering at Lance’s games, instruments and terrariums.

Lance watched him move. He didn’t keep his hands folded behind his back. He traced his fingers over the carvings of one of Lance’s largest bows. He scratched the succulents as one might scratch the chin of a friendly dog. He even bowed to touch the carpet, lit up, and touched it some more. He didn’t react when Lance poked his head out of the bedroom, let a guard know where he was and that he wasn’t to be disturbed, and locked the door.

Keith had finished his flute by then and Lance topped it off.

He asked, “When did you grab that bottle?”

“I stole it off someone who was hustling past.”

“You really are aiming to get me drunk, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

Keith laughed.

“I’ve always wanted to get drunk with someone. We can play board games and see who gets dizzy first.”

“ _I’m_ going to get dizzy first.”

“Let’s play snakes and ladders. Do you like snakes and ladders?”

“Are you going to take advantage of me when I’m too inebriated to throw you off?”

“Yes.”

Keith looked away with a flush and smile. “At least you’re transparent about it…”

Lance cajoled him to face forward with two taps to his cheek. “Do I have permission to get you drunk and ride you?”

“Pfft! Lance!”

Lance chortled. His fingers strayed to Keith’s nape and toggled his hairline. Keith relaxed beneath his touch because it was not sensual or sexual or romantic. If his touch were to say anything it would be, _I like this I like you here_ and Keith leaning into it meant he liked it too.

“Yeah, yeah.” He blushed, “Yes, you have my permission.”

Lance thanked him with a kiss.

They didn’t touch another drop of alcohol. Lance slipped his hands beneath Keith’s robes and groped his hard skin. Keith yielded, moaning in utter submission.

 _What a beautiful sound,_ Lance thought. He peeled Keith’s clothes off one shoulder and then the other. His lips descended to the hollow of his throat, clavicle, and his left pec. “Lie down,” he said, tugging on Keith’s wrists.

Keith’s body followed him to the soft, deep rug that felt like the fur of a friendly dog. Lance crawled between his legs and sucked on a nipple.

“Mm,” Keith held Lance at his elbows. “That feels nice.” He gasped a little when Lance rolled the erect flesh between his teeth, barely nibbling, barely hurting. He sucked on it lovingly again before moving to the next. Keith brought his knees up and whined.

Lance’s clothes were formed to his body. Keith recognized that he was partial to skirts and dresses but tonight he wore an obscuring jacket over what looked like a bodysuit of flawless midnight blue. Reducing Lance’s slender features to silhouette had been doing things to Keith all night. It was both censoring and revealing. What his eyes didn’t see his brain filled in.

He cupped the back of Lance’s head and lead him into another kiss. This one was slower and had Lance melting against his crevices. Lance rocked a little. Upon feeling Keith’s bulge, he straddled him.

“Lance, I have to ask you something.”

Lance pulled up and braced his forearms on Keith’s chest.

“Is your family going to be okay with…uhm. I know you and I aren’t courting but…”

Lance’s brow rose to his hairline. “We’re _not_ courting?”

Keith spluttered. “ _Are_ we?”

“I mean, oh—we. I’d like to.”

“O-oh.”

“If…if this was just, like, _just sex_ for you then that’s fine and I’ll shut up—”

“No! No,” he held Lance’s cheeks. “It’s not only sex for me. I like you. Very much. I just, I don’t know if I…well. I don’t think its love yet.”

Lance rolled his eyes and fantastic shoulders. “We only met a _month_ ago, babe.”

“So it's fine?”

“It’s fine.” Lance nodded. “Am I your friend?”

Keith recoiled. “ _Of course_ you’re my friend—!”

“And can we be monogamous?”

“As if I’d share you with anyone else—”

“Mmm, likewise.” Lance smirked around narrowed eyes. “Is this why you kept glaring at my guests?”

Keith flushed. “They’re not worthy of you.”

“But you are?”

Keith practically glowed in the gloom. “Y-yes.”

“Confident. Sexy.”

Keith grumbled in embarrassment and sang with relief when Lance licked his bottom lip.

Lance rocked himself on Keith’s body. They groaned, and Lance slipped out of his jacket. Keith watched in awe as he shimmied out of his bodysuit. He was immaculately nude beneath, now only wearing bangles and earrings to his name.

“Pretty,” Keith touched Lance’s belly and sternum with the tips of his fingers. Lance’s skin sported a thin veneer of heat and wet.

Shy, he ducked his head in reply to Keith’s besotted expression, and busied himself freeing Keith’s erection from his formal skirt.

“Wait—let me go down on you first.”

Lance lit up. “Really?”

Keith nodded.

“Later? I want you in me.”

“Shouldn’t I warm you up? Isn’t that how it works?”

“It works how we want it to work. And look, I’m wet. Here. Feel.” He lured one of Keith’s hands to his sex.

Between thick silky hair and puffy lips was slick and hot and pressure. Keith panted and fingered his entrance a little. “Oh _Lance…”_

Lance bobbed on his fingers, casually stroking Keith’s length. Keith panted. He felt so prepared to give his mind and body to Lance and he felt himself go weak with the idea that Lance looked down at him thinking the same thing. Despite that this was not their first time his heart skyrocketed as Lance swung one long, beautiful leg over his hip. His skin was blue in the dark light. Keith sighed, rubbing his thigh.

“May I ride you, Yorakeith?”

Keith groaned. Lance was sliding his folds over Keith’s prone cock. It’s tapered shape threatened to slip into Lance’s body on every backstroke but it never did. He marveled in the feeling and in the vision of the man he was swiftly falling for above him before nodding.

Lance did something different, tilted his hips differently, because on _this_ backstroke now his hole gobbled Keith’s length up absolutely and they moaned as one. They felt sloppy and messy and tingly and more than simply human.

Keith gathered him into his arms with a whine. “Thank you,” he kissed the top of his head. “Thank you for sharing yourself with me.”

Lance bucked his hips and dug his fingers into Keith’s tough shoulders. “Keith—”

Keith kept Lance pinned to him with one arm and gasped one cheek in the other as he thrust up.

_“Keith!”_

Keith felt his gums stinging. He wanted to claim Lance so badly! He buried his nose into the smell of hot metal and pungent rain and he found himself possessed. He wanted to remember that taste on his tongue for a long time to come. He gasped wetly, wanting to convey something, something profound that was spinning his mind into chaos…

Lance was licking at his scent gland and trembling. He was sucking and kneading and throwing Keith further into madness. Their hips worked together now. Keith had never felt this good with a partner before. What was the difference?

He came first. Lance stopped moving but didn’t pull himself free from Keith’s overheated body. Instead he wiggled, as if trying to get Keith’s boner _deeper_ into his body, sucking up all his spend.

“There are no eggs,” Keith reminded him and bit at his ear. “It’s just discharge. I’m sorry.”

Lance shook his head. His back vibrated as he said something.

“Can’t hear you.”

Lance sat up, eyes red and mouth pink, “I said I don’t care.”

Keith licked his nose.

_“Ew! Keith!”_

“Can we move to the bed now?”

“Yes—woah!”

Keith sat up, curled Lance’s limbs around him, and stood. He displayed exceptional strength getting the mosquito net untucked. He was kissing Lance again as they fell to the sheets, still joined. “Mm. So this is what history tastes like.”

“Ha, what?”

“History. You made history, Lance.”

“People keep saying that…”

Keith pulled back. He felt Lance’s change in mood and searched his downturned mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember the alpha that beat Kolivan?”

“Yes. They called him Takashi.”

“Takashi Shirogane.” At Keith’s surprised expression, “I’ve been trying to find a way to buy him.”

“What for?”

“ _History_ wouldn’t been made if it weren’t for him. Don’t you get it? He went to the arena in place of either Zethrid or Kolivan. It’s because Sendak wanted him and pissed the king off Zarkon gave me _his_ boon instead.”

Keith, conflicted, frowned. “You can’t…save them all, Lanceria.”

Lance glared at him. “If someone gets you a drink and you drink it even though you weren’t thirsty, don’t you thank them?”

Keith ducked his head. “You can _try_.”

“I can’t help him,” Lance growled, “I can make history, help liberate a _country_ but I can’t save _one person_ and it pisses me off!”

“You can’t save them all,” he kissed Lance’s stray tear.

“Why _not?!”_


	3. Help

Three years later Lance played with the ring that rest on the hollow of his throat as he was escorted into the bowels of Voltron’s coliseum. His heart hurt.

There was very little light down here. What light there was came through these slits at the top of the corridor which reminded him of the holes he punched into boxes when he caught beetles in his childhood. The floor was dusted with straw. Something about these corridors smelled distinctly animal.

Was he in the right place? Their guide’s stead was firm despite his wavering heart.

“Here he is, Lord de Leone,” the warden gestured. “We recommend that you keep your distance at all times and don’t stick your hand into the cell.”

Lance blinked, still acclimating to the darkness. There was a breathing shadow there. He kneeled. His trousers were baggy and caught at his narrow waist with a broad belt: he was dressed to wander and was inconspicuous save for his Marmora shadow.

“Well? Will you buy him or not?”

Regris growled, “Give him a moment.”

“For what?”

Lance tuned him out. “Takashi Shirogane?”

The shadow continued to breathe.

“My name is Lanceria de Leone. You and I met a long time ago. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

The shadow breathed.

“Takashi—”

“Go away.”

Lance shivered. His voice was dry and sharp, as though he rarely spoke but practiced that tone over and over. “Wait, please. I’m not here for the reason you think I am—”

“You’re not?” the warden interrupted.

Lance clicked his tongue in annoyance. He spoke in low Terran: “I’m not here for the reason you think I am.”

Takashi, still in silhouette, perked up. “How do you know my language?”

“I wanted to make sure I was proficient before I met you properly.”

The warden narrowed his eyes but did not speak again.

“I’m sorry I can’t grant you more privacy or more comfort than this. I’m sorry you’re here to begin with.”

“None of this was ever your concern. What do you want?”

“I want to help you. I want to grant you freedom and anything you need to start up.”

“At what cost?”

“It’s unconditional.”

“No. Go away.”

“Are you _really_ going to turn away the opportunity to be free?”

“Hands off the railings, de Leone,” the warden reminded.

Lance only let the grill go when Regris lightly touched his shoulder.

But Lance was still livid. “I’m trying to help you!”

“I already know what I have to do to gain my independence. I don’t need you.”

“You’re talking about the king’s boon gifted to the reigning Champion at the end of the year. Do you really think you’ll be able to hold out that long?”

“I’ve held out so far.”

“That was _before_ you were a political symbol.” He paused for Takashi to react and carried on anyway, “There’s a group in the city, they call themselves the Coalition, and they’ve been calling for reform. They want to abolish the circus and they’ve used you as their mascot. King Zarkon is furious and has employed warriors to take you out and crush their hope. Everyone you’d faced until now would have been _lambs_ in comparison.”

Takashi shook his head. “Why choose me as their mascot?”

“Because Terran has been resisting colonization this entire time. They refuse to be absorbed into the Empire just as you, who was thrown in here to prove Altea’s dominion over Terran, is closer now than ever to winning your freedom. It’s all biblical and symbolic but Voltron is nothing if it’s not a city founded on faith and propaganda and you’re at the heart of it.”

“Why should I believe you.”

“The last woman you went up against was a trained mercenary. The fuck who took your arm too. You noticed it, haven’t you? These foreigners showing up in the ring with crazy good fighting skills?”

“And you say it’s because I’ve fallen out of favor with the king who owns me.”

“Yes.”

“The king who could simply have me beheaded.”

Lance shook his head with a macabre chuckle. “Matters of the court and the crown are theatrical. A beheading by decree isn’t enough, it needs to look like it was the work of fate or God.”

“This city is insane.”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Takashi stood and shuffled forward in a clatter of chains. In the soft light Lance could finally see his features. His heart broke. Dirty skin and knotted hair and enflamed flesh where it rubbed against his shackles were revealed. His stump looked irritated and his eyes vaguely jaundiced. He was barely clothed. He kneeled in front of Lance and wrapped his hands around the bars.

“Away from the bars, alpha,” the warden called.

“It’s fine,” Lance demanded.

“It’s _not_ fine—”

Regris hissed loud and feral. “Don’t interrupt.”

Takashi’s eyes never left Lance’s. “What do you gain by obtaining custody over a living political symbol?”

“I don’t want you out of here because of that.”

“You must have something to gain.”

Lance’s eyes flickered. “I have a favor, but that has nothing to do with this. It’s optional.”

Takashi’s voice was even softer. “What is it?”

“I…I want a baby.”

Takashi’s eyes widened for the first time. “And you came to _me!?”_

“You’re my first choice, yes,” Lance smiled. “If you help me and my husband conceive I’d like you to stay with us for a little under a year. If you decide you don’t want us then I’ll help you with whatever you want.”

Takashi stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t…think you can give me what I want.”

“What _do_ you want?”

He looked away. “I’m looking for someone. Another alpha.”

“A POW from Terran?”

He met his eyes. “Yes.”

“I’ll find them. Consider it done.”

“Big talk.”

“Finding people is already a part of the work I do.” He offered his hand to shake. The warden balked but was held back by Regris. “So do we have a deal? I let you out, give you for freedom and find this stranger and you knock me up?”

“It hardly sounds like a fair deal.”

“You can buy me flowers as a consolatory prize later or whatever. Please decide? I don’t have a lot of time. Government alpha are on sale today and technically that includes you but I can’t promise everyone is as understanding and bribeable as the warden here.”

Takashi’s eyes for the first time flickered up to the warden, who flinched.

He slipped his hand into Lance’s.

-

Last year Lance convinced Keith to participate in the carnival.

The grounds were an abandoned factory site once. The warehouses had been repaired with translucent panels to house a market for nomad vendors.

“Don’t look too hard,” and Lance looped his arm around his lover’s hard waist. “They _love_ to barter and pretend that you’re getting a deal but no matter what you do everything here is overpriced.”

Keith sulked. “What does that matter? You’re rich.”

“And I don’t _stay_ rich if you keep lusting after overpriced stock.”

Keith sulked.

“I’ll get you anything you want. Remember how it looks and I’ll get you something better later.”

“For a self-claimed philanthropist you’re very cheap.”

Lance knocked his head and Keith laughed. “Not true! I just don’t want to shell out seventeen silver pieces for a gold bracelet that’ll break next week when I can get you a gold alloy bracelet for half that which will last you a lifetime.”

“Isn’t solid gold worth more than a gold alloy?”

“Yes, but gold is softer and won’t last _you_ very long.”

Keith didn’t fight him anymore. Instead he hooked his arm around Lance’s bare shoulders.

The marketplace was a temporary world of towering spices and banners in the wind. Some stalls were selling little potted plants, others masks, others leather bags, others still imported boots. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, of all colours and manners of dress loitered back and forth, babes on their shoulders or alpha on their arms. If for nothing else, this yearly carnival was the true intercultural display of the Empire.

Lance spied a stall selling arrows and signed sloppily, one handed: “You have good gear?”

Keith nodded. “Krolia and Regris hooked me up. Don’t worry,” and he kissed Lance’s ear, “I won’t shame you.”

“You’d better not, you’ll be wearing de Leone colours!”

Keith didn’t see. He was too preoccupied nosing behind Lance’s ear and rolling his earring and lobe between his tongue and teeth. Lance smelled like a cross between hot skin, rusted metal and fresh rain. His skin was a warm brown, a little bruised from their play the night before, a little sunburnt from their hike last week. The texture of his skin, the warp and weft of his hair…Keith knew it the language of Lance by heart. He kissed his hairline.

Lance melted into his side one moment, smelling delicious and horny, but was batting at his chest the next.

Keith reluctantly drew away.

“Not _here—_ we’re in public!”

“Like we haven’t fucked in public before.”

“ _Sssssshhh!!_ Are you going into heat?”

“I can be horny for you and not be in heat, Lanceria.”

Lance glared at him through his blush.

“Cute.”

“Shut up. Let’s find the tent and get you dressed.”

Keith’s immediate thoughts must have shown on his face because Lance’s gestures became urgent and sharp: “I said D-R-E-S-S-E-D not _U-N_ -D-R-E-S-S.”

Keith pulled him close. His lips grazed Lance’s cheek, “I heard you.”

“No, you _didn’t.”_

Lance was still dubious of Keith’s intentions when they arrived at the de Leone tent.

Each participating team or family had a tent to prepare their competitors. Keith was one among five representing the de Leone family. Rachel looked up from lacing her boots when they arrived. “Yorakeith! How are you?”

“Good thanks,” he smiled, pleasantly surprised. “You’re learning sign?”

“It’s hard not to pick it up,” she laughed, and tried her hands at the next bit, “Lance signs when he speaks to us.”

Lance blushed. “Force of habit.”

Keith blushed, enamored.

Luis had just finished embarrassing his son with a sloppy kiss to the cheek. He was intimidating in his skirt, black leather vest, and javelin. He was wide like the Lady de Leone and had the Countess’ warm brown eyes. “Yorakeith! You just missed Veronica and Marco.”

Rachel tapped the toe of her sandals against the ground. “Your clothes are over there,” she pointed with her sword. “The archery competition isn’t for another hour. Listen out for your name, yeah? And don’t be nervous!” She squeezed his shoulder as she passed him. “Sylvio! Where are you? Come give Auntie a kiss!”

A panicked juvenile scream was all Lance heard before she took off running.

“I didn’t get to see your parents before. Did they come, Yorakeith?”

“Yeah, they were sitting in the box with your moms last I saw them…” he moved to the opposite opening of the tent and pointed. They were far enough away that they couldn’t make out their expressions, but there beside the de Leones: “that’s my sire Krolia beside yours. Beside Krolia are my dads Thace and Antok, my little sister between them. Beside him is my older sister Acxa and beside her is her sire, Kolivan, and beside Kolivan is Regris, my cousin. His parents are on a mission and couldn’t be here today.”

Luis laughed, “And I thought _we_ had a big family!”

“You’re looking at half our group, really. Our family used to be bigger but we lost them in a few hate crimes over the years. That’s why we don’t have a lot of geriatric members.”

Luis cupped Keith’s shoulder in sympathy.

“It’s alright. I think we’re a lot safer now thanks to being associated with your family. It brought us a lot of respect.”

Luis cupped his shoulder again, this time with a smile. “I’m happy we met, Yorakeith.”

Keith smiled. “Thanks.”

“I’m off to warm up. You should too before your name is called. And oil down: judges love shimmering biceps and quads!” He flexed.

Lance screeched: “ _Gross_ Luis!”

Luis departed with a cackle. He dodged the stool Lance threw after him.

“Ugh! Two kids and he’s still a teenager who laughs at his own fart jokes!”

Keith chuckled. “Lance, come help me with this.”

“We don’t have time to play.”

 _“I know that._ I need help with the straps.” He disappeared behind the screen.

Lance parted the curtain to his “room” and glared. “If this is a ploy to—”

“Get in here and help me.”

“Yes sir.”

Sounds were muffled here. On occasion they heard a clatter or call but they were totally isolated. The nearby sounds excited Keith: he felt like an exhibitionist as Lance peeled him out of his skirts and sandals. He pulled on a loose shirt. “Am I supposed to tuck this into the breeches?”

“Mhm, but you wear this sash with it.”

“Why a sash? What’s wrong with a practical leather belt?”

“Aesthetic.”

Keith silenced, knowing better than to argue with Lance on the venerable topic of _aesthetic_. The breeches were elastic and flattering and hooked under his ankles. They were patterned and a dark yellow, bringing attention to the passionate blue of the sash. There was a complicated knot involved with tying the sash at his back. Lance had taught him several times but it never stayed tight.

“We were taught how to do this since we were eight,” Lance huffed. “I’m telling you, the _genteel_ are _impeccably_ insane. We’re so bored we invent behaviors. Turn?”

Keith turned. “Good?”

“Yeah. You feel comfy?”

“Mhm. Can I get a kiss?”

“Huh?” Lance snapped out of thought. He slipped into his embrace with a teasing smirk. His kiss was sweet. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I like the expression you give me when I do.”

“Dork.”

Keith held his hips, thumbs in his belly, and kissed him less chastely. Lance moaned and someone out of sight shouted that they were ripped off. It felt like they were making out in the middle of the marketplace. He rocked his hips lazily forward, hands slipping to Lance’s ass, and his kisses steadily got raunchier.

Lance pulled away. “Mm. We don’t have time.”

He nosed his throat. “I’ve been on edge all day. I won’t last long. Promise.”

“Do people usually say that as a _good_ thing?”

“I want you.”

Lance salivated. _“Keith…”_

Keith waited for an argument. Lance only darkened though, casting Keith’s growing bulge flitting glances. Keith squeezed Lance’s ass in his palms and pulled him flush against his body, rocking his erection suggestively, mouthing at his pulse with heady pants.

Lance gasped when children shrieked as they ran past, utterly oblivious. “It feels like we’ll get caught.”

He sucked Lance’s ear and earring between his teeth. _Clack clack._ Lance slipped his arms over the waves of Keith’s powerful shoulders. “I can taste your excitement on your skin. Give me permission, Lanceria.”

Lance groaned. He was weak! Keith had _talent_ for toeing the line of dominance and submission. _Give me permission,_ he demanded. _Give me permission,_ he begged. Lance didn’t have a choice.

“Love me, please.”

Keith grinned and kissed him. “I’m going to undo all your hard work.” As he said so he tugged the sash loose in one hard yank.

Lance shook his head between their smashed lips. He didn’t care.

Keith ripped his borrowed clothes down his broad thighs and up his hard chest. “Jump,” and Lance did. His legs looped around Keith and Keith held him from beneath his thighs. He dropped Lance a little and rocked himself up and his tapered cock slipped around Lance’s panties and plunged into his body.

Lance squealed and squeezed Keith to him. A pair of lovers out of sight argued over the superior means of cooking pork belly.

“Keith!” he cried hoarsely. Instantly Keith slapped up into him. He was sopping in moments. His slick dripped to the padded earth. The fear of getting caught by passersby, the fear of getting caught by family, screwing in a space previously untainted by sex…Lance felt his insides melt.

Keith’s fangs had detracted while Lance had fallen in love with his cock. His eyes were lidded in focus and he was abusing his bottom lip.

Between gasps of ardor Lance pulled Keith’s lip free with his thumb. It was bleeding a little. Their eyes met, and Keith rushed forward for a kiss, holding him even tighter. Still his hips worked like an piston.

Lance felt weightless with the way Keith carried on. Had his tongue not been preoccupied he was ready to scream his name to high heaven, may the Ancients hear how grateful he was for pairing them together.

_“Lance, I—”_

Lance nodded, eager to feel Keith’s spend. Keith came with jagged thrusts. His nose was pillowed in Lance’s sweaty breast and Lance kissed the top of his hair as he came down. Limb by limb and with kisses scattered between Keith lowered Lance to the ground. Then, without prompt, he kneeled to lick Lance clean.

Lance gasped and grasped shoulders. “ _Oohooo,”_ he whimpered, “yes, _please!”_

Keith’s hand was curled behind one knee and the other pulling his panties aside. How erotic he didn’t even think to undress Lance, even partially, even for a second, instead he was devoted to suckling Lance’s sex. He—

Lance tapped his head and Keith drew back, carefully rearranging Lance’s underclothes. “I wasn’t finished. You didn’t come.”

“Make it up to me later.” He cupped Keith’s jaws and tasted himself on his tongue. “ _Mm…_ fuck. Let me put on your clothes, okay?”

Keith was pink and breathless. His frown implied he’d like to do literally anything else. He hissed at Lance’s cursory suck on his dick.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

His eyes trailed Lance hungrily as he moved around their dinky room.

Lance shivered. He was going to be _devoured_ later.

They were, for better or worse, on time for Keith’s challenge.

Keith handled the bow he was given with reverence. It was personally selected for him by the people who trained him. It sang beneath his hands: he saw the distant bottles and targets and forgot that he was on a time limit, he just remembered the way Acxa taught him focus for the first time, how Krolia taught him patience, Kolivan strength, and he remembered the first time he saw Lanceria pluck a harp.

His bow _sang!_

 _Thwak!_ went the last target.

“Hm.” A disappointed Keith deemed. He turned to the umpire. “What next?”

“What _next?”_

“Is…isn’t there like, a second round or something?”

“This is _it_ , son,” the umpire chuckled. “And by the look of things you won.”

That was good news. Lance would be willing to let him suck him off when he heard.

 _Pop!_ Keith dodged the stream of alcohol that came his way. Next Lance tackled him—he knew it was Lance because of the crackle of his excitement and the timing of laughter in his skin as they embraced. He saw his friends and family rushing him with praise and congrats.

His sire looked critical. “That was not your best performance, but it was excellent.”

Veronica laughed, “I’m assuming that’s praise.”

“ _High_ praise,” Keith smiled. They laughed and he hugged her. Marco, who had aimed the alcohol at him, said that it was in celebration. With Keith’s perfect score they pulled ahead of their competitors. The carnival prize was theirs!

“What is the carnival prize anyway?”

“Tickets to a music concert? I dunno.”

“How can you _not_ know??”

He escaped to Keith, grasping him in one arm. “Here’s to my brother-in-law! May he replace Lance in all future archery competitions!”

“Hear hear!”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Oh my god look at Lanceria’s face—he looks so betrayed!”

“You guys are _assholes!”_

The de Leones were noisy and unsophisticated beside the quietly beaming Marmora such that when Lance caught the arrow the group didn’t immediately respond. Keith’s family fell silent, and then the de Leones took heed.

Keith turned.

Lance held a steel tipped arrow aimed for Keith’s shoulder. He was glaring across the field at the lonely archer: a tall, slender woman with blonde hair and unusual plum eyes. She was almost haughty as security detained her.

Thace pressed his daughter to Krolia and reached for Keith. “I was not vigilant. Forgive me.”

“It’s fine, dad,” Keith didn’t break out of his embrace though. “Who would expect we’d be attacked at a carnival?”

Regris groused, “We should be used to it by now.”

Countess de Leone descended the bleachers. “I saw what happened. I hope the Marmora family will accept my sincerest apologies and regrets. I promise you Nyma will see justice.” She was a regal woman, proper and stiff.

Her alpha stood next to her looking forlorn, “If you’d like, we’d love your company at our residence for the night. We have great security and even better: great food.”

Keith smiled. Lance, Rachel and Veronica looked everything like their alpha sire. Long and willowy, slender, deceptive strength, and something cunning behind that easy-going nature. He was as intimidating with his smiles as the Countess was with her silence.

Keith finally pulled away to Lance. “Are you alright?”

“Me? You’re the one who got shot at.”

“You look unhappy.”

“Because you got _shot_ at!”

Keith unfurled Lance’s hand to reveal a pink laceration. “You saved me. Thank you.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you anyway. Your tunic,” and he smacked it a little, “is made out of tough stuff. It would have been like getting hit with a pellet.”

“Still.” He kissed Lance’s cut. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it? It’s because people hate us, and they hate that we’re close to your family.”

“What? No! No no no no no no no no, babe, no, listen—Nyma’s just an old flame. We. I. I…jilted her.”

“What?”

Lance huffed. “I ran away from her. We were supposed to get married when I was, what. Fifteen? We were sweethearts and my parents wanted me to wait but I was so sure I was in love with her. A week before we were supposed to get hitched I heard a rumor she was after my money and I didn’t even confront her, I just ran away. My parents disguised it as an impromptu studying trip to Narquod and then I’d be ready for marriage in two weeks. Then I got stuck there for a year. On my return she’d married someone else…and she never believed for a minute that I didn’t run away.”

Keith frowned. “You were fucking _fifteen!_ You were just a _kid_ she can’t hold a grudge for not keeping a promise when you were a kid!”

“It’s a pride thing. I’m with you now and she’s taken it like a slap to the face that I’d marry a commoner.”

“…and a Marmora at that, I’m guessing…”

He didn’t refute.

“But an _arrow?_ Seems a bit much.”

Lance scoffed. “She knew I’d catch it.”

Keith looked at Lance’s hand. “How _did_ you catch it?”

“I’m an archer.”

“Huh?”

“I do archery. That’s one of my pastimes.” He frowned. “You’ve seen the bows in my room.”

“I thought…! I thought they were _decorative!”_

“We’ve known one another for _two years_ and you thought I collected bows for _fun!?_ Whose place did you think you were taking for the archery competition?”

Embarrassed: “Your mom…”

“My _mother!”_

Keith blushed and Lance laughed loud and hard and mean. Lance would probably make fun of him for it, but it was in that moment Keith fell in love with him.

-

Lanceria de Leone stood in the receiving hall of Voltron’s bathhouse with a lonely gold coin on display.

“The Green Room, please, with one bucket, three bars of lemongrass exfoliating soap, one bottle of thyme and lemon shampoo and two of your newest hard bristle brushes. Three towels. Oh, and do you have any pastries today?”

The receptionist, a middle aged sallow man, went to great lengths to keep his eyes off the Champion. “We have an arrangements of sweets, yes.”

“Hmm,” he looked over the short list on the board. “Do you have anything for stamina and energy?”

The receptionist’s expression was a little less sallow as he caught on to a meaning Lance did not intend. “We can have a platter prepared for you, my lord.”

“Very nice.”

“Shall I escort you to—”

“No need, I know the way.” He smiled to Shiro and gestured forward. “Shall we?”

Shiro pulled the cloak closer to his body. It was new and fit oddly against his big, thick body. It left his hairy shins and cracked feet on full display. The hood didn’t cover all of his head either, and he escaped sight by ducking his face beneath his hair.

“Don’t like being the center of attention, eh?”

Shiro returned, “I don’t like being humiliated.”

Lance looked over her shoulder sharply.

“You’re parading me around like your prize bull. What happened to your talk of humane treatment?”

“Sorry I couldn’t find clothes big enough for you in the five seconds I realized I could get out. Next time I’ll be sure to throw in a fancy hat and gold slippers.”

“That’s not my complaint and you know it.”

The corridors they took were not sparsely populated. Men and women in various forms of undress passed them and peered at them through the pillars or windows that blocked off rooms and wings of the bathhouse.

They went upstairs and Shiro’s eye was helplessly drawn to the swing of Lance’s hips as they ascended. He looked away, bitter and frustrated over his reflexive attraction.

“It’s better that people think you’re associated with me. Then they’ll give you less grief in the future. Most don’t like to mess with my family.”

“Why not?”

“We have friends in high places,” he shrugged. His cobalt earrings glittered. “We have money. We have power.”

 _So did Sendak. So did Zarkon._ Shiro turned his eyes down. But Sendak and Zarkon weren’t so quick to grant him his freedom. So far this boy had one up on them with that.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, Shiro. We’ll be more subtle when we leave.”

Shiro was surprised. An actual apology? From an omega?

The Green Room was not a hall as others were, but a small enclosed space of jade green tiles spanning the walls and floors. In the center of the floor was a shallow rectangular pool. Indoor plants crowded the corners and hung from the walls. The ceiling was a dome of bright white fresco and a single skylight. Square windows lined the walls, but the view of the city was blurry thanks to the steam.

Lance peeled off his shoes and was abruptly much shorter. He helped himself to a bowl of fruit in the corner.

“Will you want help doing your hair or anything?” Lance turned a cursory glance around the room. “We have this place for a maximum of three hours. I can leave you alone or keep you company.”

Shiro mumbled, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away if you aren’t supervising me?”

“Dude, have you _seen_ yourself? Supervision won’t do shit!”

Shiro felt a pulse of amusement but didn’t feel himself smile.

“I think you’d better wait for your certificate to come back before you leave, if that’s what you ultimately want.”

Shiro was confused by his utter lack of interest to keep him under lock and key.

“I’ll have to leave you alone for a little while to find you some clothes anyway,” he sighed. “Can I have your permission to take your measurements? I’m guessing you’re a XXL from the shoulders but the narrow waist implies prêt-á-porter will look weird on you. Nothing a belt won’t fix I guess.” He turned when the receptionist appeared with three girls in tow, each holding food or soaps or towels or drinks. “You guys are timely, thanks! Can you put them by the windows please? Awesome. Also can I bother you to find me Plaxum? She’s a textiles merchant on Bubble Lane, tell her de Leone summoned her.”

“No issue at all, sir,” the receptionist accepted additional coin with a bow and slip of hand. “Should you need anything else pull this red rope.”

“Got it, thanks,” he was reading how to operate the knobs of the room and didn’t look up from his pear.

 _He’s so unguarded,_ Shiro thought. There was nothing stopping Shiro from reaching out and snapping that slender neck and Lance appeared none the wiser in the absence of his guardian.

Not that Shiro had any intention to harm him: the thought occurred to others more than it occurred to him. He’d been treated as a threat for so long he found it unnerving to see someone’s exposed back.

“I won’t peek,” Lance said suddenly. “You can undress.”

Shiro slipped out of his borrowed cloak and ragged fighting skirt and slipped into the water. He expected it to be scalding but it was just a little hotter than lukewarm. It was milky too, and vaguely soapy, and dirt practically slipped off his skin.

“Are you in? Can I turn around now?”

“Yes.”

Lance turned and smiled. “Oh! Look at that! You’re still here.”

Shiro didn’t meet his eyes, feeling another pulse of humor.

“I usually like the communal baths more because it’s nice to flex my pretty body when I’m negotiating deals on behalf of clients, but the private baths are nice too. My husband and I come pretty often.”

“Is that why the receptionist didn’t give you grief about parading an alpha through his foyer?”

Lance smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, he knows better than to make an enemy out of _me_.”

“Because you can use your power and position to make his work hell. And you’re proud of that?”

Lance turned to him with a frown. “What _are_ you complaining about?”

Shiro looked away.

“No, don’t do the silent treatment thing with me,” and to Shiro’s horror he walked into the bath clothes and all. “You have something to say? Say it. I’m not the type to let things brew.”

Shiro didn’t like looking up at him. Was it another power play that Lance was clothed and standing but he was naked and seated? He spoke slowly. “You omega believe that you can bend the rules as you like because you have power. That’s not something to celebrate. The institution is made to cater to your kind.”

“The same institution that makes it okay for alpha to be enslaved. The same institution that made it okay for people not to walk through the front doors of some establishments just because they have non-retractable dicks. The same institution that _you’re_ defending.”

“What, because you’re breaking the rules for my benefit I should be grateful?”

“The rules are wrong, so yes.”

Shiro grunted.

“You’re on the wrong side of this argument, you know. I’m doing all this for you.”

Shiro felt his teeth lengthen. They were too big and too wild in his mouth. He didn’t hide them as he looked away sharply and snarled, “Why thank you, omega.”

His cynicism and frustration was more than clear. Lance’s brow softened and he retreated. He placed a platter of foods and fruits next to Shiro—nothing to satisfy but enough to hold the tide—and retreated to the most distant corner of the pool to soak his ankles, not facing Shiro, munching on an apple, frowning at a picture book.

Shiro bathed in the silence.

A bath at his leisure was a luxury. He cleaned himself thoroughly in no time at all but Lance didn’t move, still flicking through his picture book, so Shiro took to some of the other tools and started scrubbing his feet, oiling his hair, cleaning his cuticles…

It was an hour before Plaxum arrived.

“Zumzum!” Lance screeched. He swept her up in a boisterous hug. “And Swirn too, hi! Where’s Blumfump?”

“Holding down the fort,” Plaxum replied smilingly.

Swirn turned to Shiro. “Is that the one you want us to dress?”

“Yes,” Lance looked to Shiro unsurely. In Terran he said: “These are my friends, they can prepare you comfortable clothing really quickly. Swirn is alpha, she can take your measurements in private, and you can tell them your preferences in fabric or pattern.”

“I don’t care,” he replied in Altean. He stood. “Can we get this over with?”

Lance jerked his head away in a bid to be polite but Plaxum eyed him critically. “Swirn, if you please.”

Swirn was efficient with her measuring tape. Plaxum offered swatches of fabric for Shiro to choose from. They said they could have some pre-made clothes tailored within the next hour. About three robes and four linen pants.

“He’s partial to linen too and there’s this lovely navy blue I think would look wonderful against his complexion.”

“Ladies, you are the bomb.” He kissed them both on the lips. Plaxum bowed her head and Swirn grimaced then grinned. “What do I owe you? Admittance to heaven? Keys to the city? My firstborn?”

“An invitation to the next party you attend with a wealthy debutant.”

“ _Gosh,_ I don’t think I can manage that! Be more realistic!”

Plaxum giggled and Swirn rolled her eyes.

“Mm,” he closed his eyes a moment. “Be available in three weeks. The Griffin family’s youngest had a heat recently.”

“Ooh, an old family! Those are hard to get into.”

“Prepare your best suits for all three of us and you’ll never have trouble getting your way into a party ever again.”

Lance smiled and saw them off.

Shiro had drained and refilled the bath in that time. It was clearer now, and Lance startled when he realized he could make out more than the impression of cock beneath the surface.

Shiro said, “You’re weird.”

Lance had returned to his picture book but was still blushing when he looked up—he did _not_ look up, he closed his eyes and turned his head to indicate he was listening.

“You don’t bat an eye at my stump but you keep turning away from my nudity.”

“I’m used to residual limbs and scars.” He ate his apple.

Shiro’s eyes traced Lance’s body. His pants were still black where he rolled it up to his calves and what skin he could see was flawless.

“My husband’s family,” Lance eventually volunteered, eyes still down, “they worked as warriors for hire for a long time. And because they’re Marmora they were treated as expendable. Makes for brutal injuries.”

“What’s Marmora?”

Lance looked at him in surprise. Right. Shiro wouldn’t know. “They’re a minority ethnicity, descendants of a destroyed city from a long time ago. It’s tradition in this city to hate them for what their ancestors did.”

“What did their ancestors do?”

“Die defying the Empire.”

“Lovely.”

Lance snorted. “You and Keith would get along. Same dry sense of humor.”

“Keith? Your husband.”

“Mhm.”

“Does he know about me?”

“He will.”

“That’s ominous.”

“Ha.”

“Why did you choose me?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Why did you choose me to impregnate you? From what I’ve seen you could have your pick of alpha.”

Lance tossed the apple core into a bin aside. Score. “Three years ago when you defeated Zethrid the first thing you did was help her to her feet. Before you fought Kolivan you bowed out of respect.”

“You remember that?”

“That’s all I could remember all these years. All these years I was hoping I got to you in time before that that…that _personality_ disappeared.”

Shiro looked down at himself.

“It didn’t. You’re still…you. You’re still…I don’t know what it is. I don’t know you. I just saw this glimmer of something, it’s like defiance that you’re still yourself, you’re still you while the world keeps trying to strip you down and…” he blushed and covered his mouth. “You’re still here.”

Shiro stared at him. He flexed his fingers. He looked at where his right arm used to be. “I won’t make a pretty trophy, y’know.”

The book snapped shut. The clap echoed. Shiro startled. Lance made a brutal outline with his straight spine and sharp profile. He was glaring at the door.

“You are not a trophy.” He looked him in the eye. “You are not a _trophy._ ”

Shiro said nothing.

Lance opened his book and slowly slowly slouched again as he read. He oscillated between mature prince and heedless child. Shiro exhaled, a touch exhausted.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he snapped. “Was that more self-deprecating nonsense? I didn’t hear you.”

He mumbled, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Ah. That’s what I thought.”

Shiro sunk into the water to hide his smile.

Plaxum and Swirn were incredibly timely. They dressed Shiro—and Lance was averting his eyes to the ceiling again—and Shiro floated in his new garb. The sleeves were long, the right sleeve tucked to wrap around the torso of the shirt as a design. It came down to his thighs, slit at the sides, and the matching pants were roomy and comfortable. They’d found him sandals in his size too.

“Girls, I am in your debt.”

“You’re the best customer, Lance.”

“Thank you for always choosing us.”

“We’ll talk.”

Lance gestured down another corridor. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

Home was not a concept that Shiro was comfortable with. He replied, “Aren’t you going to put on your shoes?”

“Oh. Good catch.” He lifted a foot and wobbled and Shiro reflexively grabbed his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing…” Lance’s skin was cool like a balm. He released him. Were his fingers buzzing? It was just his imagination. He was too tense.

Voices filtered down from the corridor ahead of them.

“Did you see that beast?”

“The poor thing. Only one arm and hanging off that knotslut de Leone.”

“I don’t care that he’s a patron, he shouldn’t be allowed in here. It’s inappropriate! _Children_ come here—we don’t want to expose our customers to a sexual deviant!”

“Say it as it is. He’s sick! Sex in that form goes against the word of God. But it’s the alpha I feel sorry for, getting caught up in his master’s perversions.”

Shiro’s heart stuttered and his spine ran hot and hollow. They were talking about them. They were talking about him! The slander was so unexpected it shocked Shiro. They were speaking of Lance that way? He doubted Lance deserved it. Bossy though he was, Lance had shown the staff nothing but respect and politeness.

He looked down.

Lance had finished strapping into his sandals but was staring at the floor. Shiro wasn’t sure what to do. Would he cry? Would he shout? Perhaps he should pick him up and run away.

He _panicked_ when Lance smiled and strode ahead.

 _Click click click click._ He strut down the corridor, staring ahead, hands in his pockets, hips swinging. The gossiping girls blanched and shuffled against the wall when they recognized him.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he purred. “Thanks for your hard work today.”

They replied something soft and ashamed but Shiro didn’t hear it over the sound of his palpable awe.

Omega were elitist trash perhaps, but he was rapidly growing fond of this one.

-

Lance continued to speak to Shiro in Terran. His accent was slippery and his vocabulary profound. He reached for Shiro often when guiding him to a new corner of the complex but made the effort not to touch him.

Shiro nearly tripped over a lamb.

“Sorry,” Lance touched him then, stabilized him by the elbow. “One of our kids is raising a small flock. He takes them up to the mountains to graze and must have just come back.”

Across the courtyard three more lamb brayed around the ankles of a boy who looked no bigger than twelve. In the shade of the porch circumventing the inner circle of the bottom floor of apartments, three pairs of parents looked on over tea and pipes.

“How many families live here?”

“Oh,” Lance released him and rattled his head. “Technically one. Everyone’s related one way or another. Uh, but if you mean like family units, if I had to organize them in nuclear family groups, I’d say…six? And then there are some older members. They don’t come out till the evening time because of the heat wave. Usually spend the day napping. Over here is the fountain,” it was a wide porcelain arrangement of blue tiles. Several potted plants stood vigil around it. “Fresh water straight from the mountain aqueducts! And it’s _always_ cold. We turn off the pump in the evenings to conserve on electricity and because the generator can be noisy. I wanted to replace it but Kolivan said it was functional. His people are too used to using things until they’re on their last legs.”

“Kolivan.”

“He’s the leader of the offensive bracket of the Marmora who live here.”

“You mean the mercenaries.”

“Mhm, although they prefer to be called Blades. Keith’s a Blade.”

“Oh.

Lance grinned. “What, scared?”

“Yes.”

Lance laughed. “This is Ilun and Vrek. They’re Blades in training.” The two Marmora turned at their names. They stood outside the complex’s wooden gates, weapons sheathed and hoods drawn. The skin beneath their eyes and over their noses were painted black to stave off the worst of the sun’s glare. “Guys, this is Shiro, he’ll be living with us for a year, give or take.”

“Hello.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Ilun and Vrek only stand watch for the midday three hour shift before passing it over to others in training.”

“It’s supposed to instill patience in us,” Vrek complained.

“I feel plenty patient. I’ve started to find beauty in watching the world go by.”

“It’s numbness you feel.”

Lance whispered, “They have philosophical arguments all the time. Be careful not to get roped into it: they’ll talk your ear off for hours.”

Shiro smiled lightly. “Mm.”

Lance stepped through the gate-in-the-gate to gesture down the road and up the road. “That way leads you into the city proper. After a ten minute walk you’ll the market where you can buy most anything. A ten minute walk up that way leads to Holy Valley and the houses of worship. Do you pray, Shiro?”

Shiro subtly shook his head, wary of Lance’s opinion on atheism.

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone most Friday evenings then, unless you’d like to come along. That’s when I go worship with my parents, sisters, brothers and niece and nephews.” He clapped the teenagers’ shoulders. “You’re free to go alone if you want but if you ever want to go shopping take one of them with you. It’ll save you grief from bigots and they’ll tell you when you’re getting ripped off.”

Ilun beamed. “I am an _excellent_ haggler.”

Vrek groaned, “What’s the point of boasting that you can strip away the worth of an item?”

“It’s not about the item’s worth, but about the _engagement_ between two people.”

“So you disregard the worth of the object?”

“The worth of the object is the topic of discussion—”

“The _monetization_ of the object is the topic of discussion—”

Shiro murmured beneath their debate, “You’re letting me leave?”

He thought he whispered, but Ilun and Vrek broke off and stared at him. Lance only lost a little light in his eyes. His smile didn’t reach them.

“I mean, I’d appreciate a head’s up before you head into town but it’s not like you need anyone’s permission.”

Shiro balked a little. Five years he’d been fighting for his freedom and now that it dropped in his lap he expected elation, not _terror._ He wondered about Lance’s angle. “What about you? Aren’t you afraid I won’t come back?”

Lance looked unconcerned. “You don’t have to _run away—_ leaving is an _option._ Just tell me where you want to go and I’ll get things in place for you.”

“…things?”

“A boat. Some clothes. Money to start a business. Seeds to start a farm. Name it.”

“Sugar daddy,” Ilun coughed.

Vrek boxed him. “Not the time, idiot.”

Lance coaxed Shiro away from them and closed the gate. He escorted Shiro to the fountain and rinsed his face. Shiro followed and winced. The sun tingled on his skin but the water was ice cold. He looked at it in wonder.

Lance’s voice was less whimsical suddenly: “You’re not trapped here.”

“…there’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Lance smiled bleakly. “You and Keith would get along. It took a while for me to convince him there was no angle to marriage. That was mostly my fault though.” He squinted. “I shouldn’t have started with the whole _joined properties_ and _legal benefits_ spiel.”

Shiro wasn’t sure what the best response was.

“Would you like to see your apartment now?”

“My…my what?”

“Apartment,” Lance gestured to a door. Where other apartments of the complex were separated from the outside world by a cloth veil or less, this was a door that could lock. It was made of latticed wood and metal hinges.

It was closest to the complex exit, already furnished with a bed, shelf and table, and a living space with several lanterns, a rug, and a scatter of pillows. There was also a chest beneath a high, narrow horizontal window.

“It doesn’t have much of a view as the higher apartments but we can get that changed for you. Other families told me that the light that comes in through the doorway was enough but I assumed you’d want your privacy so I got a door installed. And here,” Lance bustled past a stunned Shiro, “in this trunk are some basic supplies. Towels, brushes, I got you oils you can experiment with. And I wasn’t sure if you could read, I got you manuscripts and writing materials. Are you literate?”

Shiro nodded.

“Good! Good—you can tell me what you like reading and I’ll source them for you. Or you can visit either me or Kolivan, our rooms have the most books. I can find some literature from the northeast too, if you like… I’m rambling now, you haven’t said anything. Do you not like it? It needs more light doesn’t it.”

 _More_ light?

Lance kept mentioning that the windows were small but there was a three paneled window over a daybed that let in a lot of natural light, albeit through an intricately carved wooden screen that barely lent him a view of the outside world. The lanterns banished shade from other corners of the room. Ventilation was great as well, the sea breeze trickled in through the courtyard and the windows and the room smelled clean. It was private. It was spacious.

“Is this…where I live with you?”

“Mm? No, my apartment is on the penthouse level. I live with Keith. Others who live on that level are Kolivan and his daughter, Krolia and Thace and their daughter, and Antok and his mother.”

“Then who do I share with?”

“No-one…? I mean, if you want a roommate I can ask around and see who’s willing to share but we have this extra room because everyone likes living with someone else. I thought you’d like your privacy.”

Shiro touched a wall. Its white plaster whispered. He was suspicious. He wasn’t interested in rousing Lance’s ire by asking what his subliminal intent was a second time. “It’s nice. Very nice. Thank you.”

“Let me know if you want anything changed,” Lance nodded. “When Keith comes in tonight I’ll introduce you formally to everyone. Tonight we’re having jerk pork, fish soup, grilled lamb, fried eggplant, boiled plantain, pumpkin rice too I think, there a lot of side dishes with vegetables I don’t know the names of them all—any allergies?”

He shook his head.

“Excellent.” He clasped his hands over his lap. He looked young and bashful again and Shiro reeled. One moment he was an irresistible force and the other moment he was an unsure child. “That concludes the tour, unless you have any questions for me.”

Shiro nodded. “Where do you sleep?”

“Ah,” and he stepped outside and gestured to follow. He pointed. “There. The red curtain. I’m there most days cuz I work from home translating. It’s during the nights I’m out. That’s when Voltron’s social hours pick up and I can attend three parties in one night, sometimes. I can sneak you into one if you like.”

Shiro replied firmly, “No, thanks.”

“Kay. Anything else?”

Shiro frowned. “What…do you expect me to do?”

“You mean the sexy bits? We’ll get to that.”

“I meant other than that.”

“Nnr…nothing? You can do whatever you want. Within reason,” he added quickly. “I mean: please don’t jump around on tabletops in restaurants. You’re still operating under the Marmora-de Leone name after all.”

“I won’t find much use in restaurants. I have no money.”

“Yeah you do, you get an allowance. Two gold a week.”

“Two _gold?!”_ Shiro blinked. Then it registered: “A _week?!”_

Lance blushed. “That’s too much isn’t it.”

Shiro nodded! His relations with people were limited to Sendak and, in more recent years, the healer beneath the stadium when he wasn’t in the company of hungry wildcats, but he was familiar enough with the value of Altean currency thanks to his years shadowing Haxus.

Entire households could make two gold stretch for months!

His heart stopped. And he thought _Sendak_ was wealthy.

“Save it stockpile it, buy a solid gold commode, I don’t care,” Lance blushed. “It’s yours.”

“Per _week?_ For a _year?”_ He’d be able to buy a country.

“What, you want me to bring it down to four silver?”

Shiro nodded quickly. He’d be comfortable with less than that.

“What, I was joking—”

“A month.”

“A _month!”_

“Please.”

“Fine,” Lance waved his hand. “Fine. Four silver a month.”

Shiro nodded. His heart thumped. Not for the first time he wondered who the heck Lanceria de Leone was.

“Shall I leave you to get settled in?” Shiro nodded. “Got it. I’ll be in my room, you know where to find me. Knock for anything okay? Don’t be shy.”

Shiro nodded.

Lance retreated, a little disappointed by how unresponsive his new alpha was. Was it shock? Did he say something wrong? He worried the entire ascent to his apartments.

It was an hour before Shiro remembered that a closed door didn’t mean a locked door.

His habits were bad. He found himself hiding the things that he liked, things like bars of soap and water bottles. The sound of conversation and laughter outside his door made him feel restless, like an invisible barrier that kept him in. Thirst was what drove him to fill the bottles he found in the trunk.

While he sat at the fountain a few eyes looked at him, but they were not unkind. No one approached him which made him think that everyone was told to leave him alone unless he initiated. That theory burst when a shadow fell over him.

“You are Takashi.”

Shiro froze, ready to be profiled as Zarkon’s Champion.

“…forgive me, I must be mistaken.”

Shiro looked up as the stranger walked away. His gait and ivory hair were familiar. Despite himself he called, “I know you.”

Kolivan turned on his heel.

Shiro cleared his throat.

“Three years ago we encountered one another in Zarkon’s personal playpen. My name is Kolivan.”

“I remember you. You were…you were Lanceria’s alpha, aiming for Champion.”

“We were not aiming for Champion,” Kolivan sat at the fountain an arm’s length and a half away. “That was part of a ploy to enable Narquod’s independence.”

Shiro frowned.

“It’s a long and confusing story. The little prince tells it best. Remember to ask him.”

“Little prince?”

“Our nickname for Lanceria.” He stood. “A pleasure to see you again, Shiro, and I’m happy it’s under kinder circumstances. I’d love to have tea with you one evening. Don’t make yourself a stranger.”

Shiro nodded. Kolivan took a step before he remembered, “The—uh, Lance…ria said that I could come to you for books?”

“You can,” Kolivan lit up with clear pride. “Would you like to see them?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“None at all. Let me help you with your bottles and I’ll take you to my study.”

Kolivan was easy to speak with. His silences were not uncomfortable and when he did speak it didn’t warrant an immediate reply. It did wonders for Shiro’s anxiety.

His study was well kept. Bookshelves lined each wall and wrapped beneath and between the shuttered windows. Some shelves were empty or had only one or two manuscripts on them, and others were crammed tight. In the middle of the room was a sleeping futon and a desk for one who sits on the ground. There was a doorway to the left of the entrance that likely lead to a more intimate suite.

“Help yourself,” Kolivan said. “Would you be interested in that tea?”

“Um, yes, thank you. Do you have a cataloguing system or…”

“I do, but that’s my daughter’s headache. If something strikes your interest put it in a pile.”

With amusement, Shiro noticed there were several such piles stacked around the well-made futon already. He made himself comfortable.

Time passed like that. Kolivan returned with tea and salty biscuits, and every half hour they exchanged a few words.

Then Acxa arrived. She stopped dead in the doorway. “Great, now there’s two of you,” she groused. “Baa, why can’t you learn my _system?”_

“I’m too old.”

“Don’t give me that!” When she kneeled before Shiro she was less than friendly but far less hostile. “Hello. My name is Acxa.”

“Shiro.” He noticed they didn’t shake hands.

Acxa nodded, stood, glared at her sire, and disappeared into the adjoining room.

Shiro decided now was as good a time as any to make himself scarce. “May I relieve you of these, Kolivan?”

“Only four?” Kolivan looked them over. “This one is an advanced book, I have a foundational text on sustainable agriculture over there, a little red one.”

“It’s smaller?”

“Yes. Take them both. Will we be seeing you at dinner? Then again…knowing the little prince he’s likely dragging you there on the threat of _or else.”_

Shiro nodded.

“Will you need help carrying them downstairs?”

“I can manage.”

Kolivan smiled. It was a little tired but genuine. “I won’t keep you then. Enjoy the read and feel free to come again. I enjoy your companionship.”

“Thank you…” he left feeling a little lost.

This morning he was a slave. Now he was having tea time with a mercenary.

From the top floor he could see over the wooden gates to the road and the donkey being led by a teenage girl. He could see rooftops of Voltron’s residential district and the spires of the places of worship. He could see the distant blue line of the sea. He could go there.

“Shiro?”

He turned.

“Was it me you were—oh, you visited Kolivan,” Lance smiled. “Can I see your selection?”

Shiro nodded.

Lance carefully untucked the books from Shiro’s elbow. He read the cover and first few pages of each book. As he did so Shiro observed him.

Lanceria was petite. It was a wonder his personality fit inside of it. His lashes were short and fanned on the slightly raised apples of his cheeks. Were those freckles? A subtle peppering of darker dots of skin splashed across his nose and what Shiro could see of his shoulders and collar bones—the neckline of the straight dress he wore was wide and the triangular sleeves long. For all the dress was modest its whiteness and featurelessness emphasized Lance’s long limbs, wide shoulders, slender calves and sun kissed complexion.

His skinny long fingers handled the yellow pages tenderly.

Lance glanced up and Shiro glanced away as if he’d done something wrong. Mercifully, nothing was said of it.

“This is a broad selection and a lot more… _utilitarian_ than I was expecting.”

“I want to return home eventually. I figure there’s going to be a lot to do there to recover from the war.”

Lance didn’t look up and shuffled the books in order, biggest to smallest. “Would you like a dictionary to go with them? It looks like heavy reading.”

“Can you spare your dictionary?”

“I have several, so…” he turned on his heel and Shiro followed automatically. He waited at the doorway and spluttered when Lance yanked him in. “I know it’s your first day but I’ll say it again: _you’re not a slave._ Don’t pull any of these _master-must-beget-me-permission-to-enter_ moves with me.”

Shiro spluttered: “I was trying to be polite.”

Lance let his arm go. “Really? My bad then. All the same you’re always welcome, just holler and enter.”

Shiro nodded, but was distracted by Lance’s suite.

While not much bigger than the rooms Shiro was provided—they were built on the same schematic—Lance’s room _breathed_ deeper. Now he understood why he thought Shiro’s room was so dark. He had a patio and it was wide open and it washed the entire living space in colour. It was richly furnished with detailed carpets, dozens of plants, a handsome writing desk in one corner and a strange and expensive looking entertainment system in the other. Gossamer curtains fluttered over windows and a niche where Shiro could make out the outline of a bed.

Lance wandered over to the writing desk. Unlike Kolivan’s shelves, Lance’s looked like they were repurposed from a wine rack. The slots were diamond-shaped but suited his arrangement of tomes, scrolls, or cylindrical glass vials of writing implements.

Shiro noticed birds on the patio. They were helping themselves to three bird feeders, each full, and to Shiro’s surprise there was a black cat there who watched them with leisurely twitches of its tail.

“Here we go,” Lance said as the cat stalked Shiro’s ankles experimentally. “Oh, Red likes you.”

“Does she accept pets?”

“Mhm.”

And then he kneeled and scratched under her chin reverent and gentle. Red was patiently still, eyes narrowing almost to slits. Her tail was high.

Lance murmured, “I forgot to ask if you could read and write in Altean.”

“I can.” He was enamored with her. “Sendak made sure I was taught.”

“Sendak did? _Oh._ He gave you an education?”

“A rudimentary one. Mostly in language. The majority of the time I spent training my body.”

Lance guiltily looked to Red. He almost ogled him. “When I was learning Terran,” and he turned, “I learned through a book of stories…”

Shiro looked up and Red butted against his hand and ankles.

Lance returned with a thick little story of rough pages. He opened it. Hand written in the language of the northeast, Shiro nearly cried. His brain picked up the words before he truly read them, “Grim Stories.”

“I didn’t understand why they were called Grim Stories,” Lance sighed and happily held it aloft while Shiro’s shaking fingers turned the pages. “Some stories ended badly but a lot of them were interesting.”

“The original translation was _Grimms Fairy Tales_ but we didn’t have a translation for fairy at the time this was translated, the closest we had was the word _spirit,_ which carries a different connotation in our culture than to what we think the book refers.”

“These stories aren’t from Terran?”

“They were found there in ruins and translated many times over the years. A lot of what the stories talk about fly over our heads. Some say it’s an exaggeration of reality and shouldn’t be read at all, others argued that it was relevant for posterity of the old world.” He was suddenly bashful. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“You’re not,” Lance grinned. Did he see the stars in his eyes? “This is _old world lore?_ I _love_ that junk! I’m pretty proficient in three old world languages, I sometimes translate things expeditions bring back. But I really like the old world movies the most. They make absolutely no sense to me but the technology and effort that went into making them—” he went off.

Shiro was struck mute by Lance’s pure enthusiasm. He hadn’t seen such bright eyes ever since he was in the classroom and he could see in the mind of a student's comprehension _click_ into place. He felt a pulse of longing. Would he ever get to teach again? He found himself nodding and Lance tapered off in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I know I ramble. I forget to catch myself sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” he was wide-eyed but didn’t look overwhelmed or disinterested. “You—that’s amazing. So you can _speak_ the old world languages?”

Lance blushed. “Only three.”

“Three! That’s incredible, I barely had the patience to learn one.”

Lance shrugged but found it hard to brush off such a sincere compliment.

“When was the first time you saw something from the old world?”

Lance gaped. He wanted him to… _continue_ talking?

“I uh, it’s. It can be a long story.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Lance chuckled. “Ha! Okay. On one condition.”

Shiro’s eyes flashed in apprehension. Lance had never seen a smile drop so quickly.

“It’s nothing bad! I promise! Can I do your hair?”

Shiro blinked. “Eh?”

“Can I braid your hair?”

He touched his hair reflexively. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Absolutely nothing. It looks nice. I want an excuse to touch it.”

“Wh—”

“Please?”

“Wh—”

“Please?”

Shiro chuckled. “Will you let me answer?”

“You’re going to say yes.”

“How are you so sure?”

Oh, was that the glimmer of something cheeky? Something bold? Something juvenile and preserved? Lance _knew_ there was a sardonic little shit in their somewhere. He was eager to make friends with it.

Lance slowly reached for Shiro’s wrist and stepped back. Shiro let himself by pulled—his eyes flickered to the bed. He swallowed. Lance sat him on the floor in front of a stool instead. He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“See? People always say yes to me.”

“Mm. I wonder if it’s for your modesty.”

“Shush.” He sat on the stool and tucked his knees under Shiro’s armpits. “Now, the first time I saw a relic from the old world I was visiting my great aunt Penelope at her plantation in Arus…”

Between Lance’s soothing voice and his sweet, curious fingers, Shiro bowed his head. He didn’t mean to. He drifted off.

-

Keith came home with Krolia at his back, aches in his shoulder and the smell of dinner on the air.

“That smells special,” Krolia grinned. “I wonder what’s the occasion?”

Ilun and Vrek eyed one another. Keith noticed and paused on the threshold. “What?”

They sweat.

“What are you up to, pups?”

“You tell him.”

“ _You_ tell him!”

Keith glared at them, “I don’t have time for another one of your debates.”

Vrek scowled. “Promise not to get mad at me.”

“Okay.”

Ilun blurted, “Lance brought home an alpha!”

“What?”

“I said Lance brought home a—”

_“What?!”_

_“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”_

“Correction, I made him promise not to get mad at _me!”_

Keith took off. He didn’t bother with the stairs or his pack, he vaulted himself clean up the wall to one floor then zoomed up an engraved pillar to the other. He was outside of his and Lance’s apartment in minutes. _“Lance!”_ He whipped the cloth aside, “Ilun and Vrek are scaring me they said you bought a—!”

At home and dozing between Lance’s thighs was the king’s Champion.

Keith skidded to a halt so violently he slipped on his heel and crashed flat on his ass.


	4. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex this chapter. Only dialogues. Maybe disagreements.

Shiro realized Lance’s husband _didn’t know._

Lance sat as a buffer between them. The entire family was assembled in the courtyard. They sat crossed legged in a rough circle around enormous bowls and pans of fantastic food. Some of the meat and seared vegetables were still popping on their platters.

“Do you like shrimp, Shiro?” He at least waited for the wide-eyed nod before spooning paella into a bowl and placing it on the low table at his folded feet. Not everyone used one—an armless woman eating with her feet didn’t though the child sitting beside her did—but it made it easier for Shiro to navigate with one hand. “Try this. And if you’re not squeamish about eating with your hand there’s another one I want you to try…Keith, move your elbow.”

Lance’s husband kept staring at him.

It wasn’t an unkind stare. Keith would glance at him steadily for a few minutes at a time like he was trying to puzzle the alpha out. Why was Zarkon’s Champion here? _How_ was Zarkon’s Champion here? He was subtle but his gaze was intense and Shiro’s skin pricked each time.

“Lance,” Keith said eventually. Shiro shivered. The beta had a beautiful voice. It was darker than his feminine features implied. “Why is Takashi here?”

He knew his name!

Lance didn’t even look at him. “Because he’s hungry. Eat more greens. You eat too much meat.”

Keith wrinkled his nose. “I have this green stuff.”

“That’s garnish, babe.” He hefted bell peppers on top of his lamb.

“And I meant what he’s doing in our home, not at our dinner table.”

“I want a baby.”

Keith was silent.

_“I want a baby.”_

Diminished: “I heard you.”

That seemed to be the end of that because Keith didn’t bring it up again. Not while his mother was stuffing her face to hide her grin across from them anyway.

Shiro learned that the youngest member of the Marmora family was Keith’s baby sister, a three year old named Lanceria. She was like her brother and stared openly at Shiro, and when Shiro made a face at her she grinned and made a face back. Their game went back and forth for a while until Shiro caught Thace smiling at them and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

He asked, “How long do you think you’ll be staying with us, Takashi?”

“Shiro, please,” he said quickly. “And uh,” he glanced at Lance and saw Keith staring again, “I’m not sure. All goes well maybe shy of a year.”

“Any plans for after?”

“I’d like to go back home, if there’s anything left to go home to.”

“That’s morbid,” Lance mumbled.

“Where are you from?”

Shiro told them.

“I had clients from there. A lot still haven’t been granted citizenship. Makes living and working in the Empire hard.”

“We wouldn’t need to live and work in the empire if Altea just kept to itself.”

Antok laughed and lifted a spoon. “Amen!”

Lance offered Keith wine.

“Stop trying to get me drunk.”

Thace said, “The Empire thrives off conquest. The culture of Voltron is that progress equals expansion. The mantle has been passed down for generations but our newest princess seems to be cut from an entirely different cloth.”

Shiro tilted his head in interest.

“Princess Allura is King Alfor’s and Zarkon’s daughter only in blood. Everything else she’s taken from her sire and the Arussian traditions of diplomacy first. Many resent her eventual ascension but people like us look forward to it.”

Lance asked, “Wine, Shiro?”

“No, thank you.”

Lance asked, “Can Lanceria drink?”

Thace grabbed the bottle.

Antok said, “But for all that we love to shit on Voltron it has its moments and its people. Like Lanceria.”

She looked up. “What’d I do?”

“I think he means me, baby,” Lance grinned. “Though I have _no_ idea what you mean.”

Kolivan spoke for the first time: “You facilitated the independence of Narquod and the emancipation of her alpha.”

“Are you guys still on that?”

“You helped legalize seventeen religions and languages across the empire.”

“That was self-serving—Olkarion produces _great_ erotica.”

Lanceria asked, “What’s ewotika?”

Thace replied, “It’s a comprehensive literature on documentation or speculation of recreational copulation.”

“Sounds boring.”

Krolia thumped her chest, coughing.

Kolivan continued to praise Lance: “And we cannot forget you saw Senator Throk impeached.”

“Okay, I’ll take credit for that one. I mean—what sort of ass—” Thace glared—“what sort of _stage villain_ passes a bill that basically criminalizes thirty percent of the foodstuff found in ethnic cuisine??”

Shiro stared at Lance’s laughing silhouette. But he was so _dinky!_ He was so _young!_ What were these people saying? How could this flimsy omega fresh out of kidhood delegate that much power?

“He’s an informant,” Krolia answered Shiro’s expression. “He seeds information to people for a price and manipulates the court and, by extension, the markets. Of course that means nothing without connections, but he would be the first to let you know that he knows everybody.”

Keith grunted, “Be careful, if you swell his head too much he won’t be able to fit in our apartment anymore.”

_“Hey!”_

A chorus of laughter and the bottle made its second way around. It soared over Lanceria’s pudgy reaching arms. Shiro took a sip then, pensive over his new living situation. At last he ate—and it was the best thing he had ever eaten. He forgot about Keith’s eyes on him for the rest of dinner.

It was barely morning when Shiro woke. His new room had him reeling for a moment. He slept on the floor because the bed was too soft. By his pillow was a bowl of water. As he drank he realized he forgot the books he borrowed with Lance.

He’ll get them later. He could do with a bath.

Though Voltron had its glorious bathhouses, these apartments had showers. Because the generator hadn’t been turned on for the day however he’d have to settle for bathing out of a bucket. He caught his expression in a tiny standing mirror as he pulled on his pants.

Lance’s work held well, considering that he was a restless sleeper. His skin was still sallow from undernourishment and he could do with another shave, but he looked better than he assumed he looked for years. He certainly felt cleaner.

He picked up an empty tub and shouldered his door to slide open. He froze. Keith sat on the rim of the fountain.

_Maybe if I run back inside he won’t notice._

Keith glanced up. Resigned, he stepped forward.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he dropped the tub from his hip.

Keith watched him draw the still water for a moment. “I can show you where to turn on the generator.”

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to wake anyone.”

“I should show you anyway given that you’ll be living with us for a while.”

Shiro hesitated. He dropped his dipper and met Keith’s cool eyes. “Does that bother you? That I’m here?”

“No. Lance has been eager to have you here for a long time. I would’ve appreciated a heads up but…never mind, that’s between me and him.”

Shiro watched him.

“I’m hard of hearing, by the way.”

Shiro blinked, “Yes, I noticed. I saw you and others signing last night.”

“You don’t have to learn it if you don’t want to. It’ll make things easier to be honest, but just face me and speak coherently and that’ll be fine.”

Shiro nodded. He resolved to learn the language already if for nothing else than to feel just that much less of an outsider.

“Do you like jogging? I was going to take a jog around the city.”

Shiro noticed the sky pinking. “I might not be able to keep up with you.”

Keith doubted it, but huffed and stood and smiled. “Just a walk then?”

“Is this…are you trying to bond with me?”

“Yes,” Keith put his hands on his hips. And tilted his head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I assumed…you wouldn’t like me.”

“Mm. Give me a few days. Jury’s still out.”

He almost smiled.

Shiro didn’t know what he did to win the interest of one of Voltron’s most powerful informants and his assassin husband but he wasn’t going to turn down a genuine offer when he saw one. He let Keith help him carry the half full tub back to his room and dug around in the trunk Lance left him for enclosed shoes that would survive the trek. He donned a wrap with a hood as well to bring attention away from his residual limb. He and Keith were hiking up the narrow road to Holy Valley ten minutes later.

This was the first time he walked the streets of Voltron as a free man. The air was as cool as he remembered and the buildings no less stark but the concept that he could do this _whenever he wished_ made him want to savor the sights.

Keith matched his pace.

“How do you know me? Did you and I also meet three years ago?”

Keith didn’t reply. He looked at him.

Keith paid attention at his swift movement. “You said something?”

“Oh, I.” He spoke a little louder, “I was wondering how you know me.”

“I saw you three years ago while you were still under Senator Sendak.” He took the chalk white stairs two at a time. “You stuck in my mind because you gave Kolivan a run for his money. He’s our best fighter.”

“Oh.”

“Kolivan’s retired now, technically, but he can still kick ass. He still does.”

Shiro hummed. It was a challenge to equate the soft-spoken scholar with the same man he’d sparred with so long ago. In his mind they had totally different faces.

They came to a viewing platform that rose above the topography of the city. The sun was rising behind them, behind the mountains, behind the palace, behind the churches, and with the city in shadow the bright ocean was a strong contrast. Wind whipped at their backs. A stray dog chased a handful of pigeons. Shutters across the city banged open.

“Cool view, right?”

Shiro faced him. “It’s weird seeing Voltron like this.”

“Why?”

“It’s a place where people live and not just…the capital of tyrannical rule.”

Whimsically, “It can be both.”

Shiro bowed his head in thought.

“You have a question?”

“I have a lot.”

Keith leaned against the railing, patient.

“How old is Lanceria?”

Keith grinned a little broader. “Twenty-one.”

“Isn’t he a little _young_ to have a kid?”

“He’s worried he won’t be able to carry after a certain age. Miscarriages are common on the Lady de Leone’s side—that’s Lance’s beta-parent—and his sisters went through a few, though his brothers had relatively easy pregnancies.”

Shiro frowned, “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

“My dad tells me that miscarriages are common in general but it really scares Lance. He really wants a kid.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

Something in the timbre of his voice made Shiro shake his head. “Never mind.”

Keith watched him. “Lance told me that he’s looking for someone for you. Your family?”

“Yes. My husband.”

Keith tilted his head in interest. “How long were you married?”

“Five years.” Ten, if he took things literally.

“Any children?”

“No, he’s alpha. So.” He steeled. “I know people in this city think that means we’re backward.”

“Some do. I don’t. Lance won’t.”

Shiro nodded. “That’s all that matters, I suppose.”

“What did you and your husband do?”

“For a living? We were teachers. He specialized in advanced mathematics, I taught foundations to chemical science and astrophysics.”

Keith thought his gasp was quiet, but Shiro grinned.

“Did you think I was a big dumb alpha?”

“No! No…but I wasn’t expecting _that.”_

“It’s fine. It’s likely for the best. I’m less intimidating as a brute than as a _smart_ brute.”

Keith’s eyes flitted down Shiro’s body for a fraction of a second. He wondered if this bod was before or after the northeast was invaded.

That aside he didn’t know that there were places beyond Voltron with access to the old records. It made sense, he supposed: if people from the Empire could go into the interior and scavenge the ruins for lost knowledge, there was nothing to say that places outside Altea couldn’t do the same. Heck: wasn’t that _why_ Voltron attacked Daibazaal? It was probably why they attacked Shiro’s homeland.

He wondered what astrophysics was.

(Shiro volunteered no further information.)

Keith waited until he’d gathered more questions again. The sun was on the ports now, and the faraway sails glowed white and yellow.

Shiro blurted, “I’m—I’m supposed to be intimate with you.”

Keith nodded.

“Is…does that…bother you?”

“Why would it?”

Flatly: “Your husband brought a stranger into your home with the express purpose of having sex with you.”

Keith laughed. It was a light and short sound. “Well, when you put it that way…but no, it doesn’t bother me. Lance could have chosen worse.”

Was that a compliment?

“Of course if you want to back out—”

“I don’t want to back out.”

“Oh?”

Shiro looked away and knew his complexion and expression betrayed him. “I don’t…I just…it’s…”

Keith risked coming closer and resting his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. It was very slow and within Shiro’s vision such that he could pull away at any time. “You can take your time. Lance waited a year, he can wait for however long it takes until you’re ready.”

“But what about his condition? About carrying before it’s too late?”

“Don’t let that pressure you.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about that. When and if _you’re_ ready to help us is all you need to be concerned about. And if you change your mind…well. I figure Lance has already promised you the moon?”

Shiro nodded. “And a boat. And enough money to found a new country.”

“There you go. You have choices, Shiro. All we ask if that you keep communication open with us.”

Shiro nodded.

“Are _you_ bothered by the idea of having sex with _me?”_

Shiro frowned. “I wouldn’t say bothered.”

“Apprehensive?”

Shiro puffed out a laugh. “Maybe. It’s, uh. It’s been a while.”

Keith gave him a considering look.

“What?” He was spooked and smiled stiffly. “What is it?”

“Don’t answer if you don’t want to answer, but what was it like living with Senator Sendak?”

Shiro felt his face fall and teeth lengthen. That question hit closer to home than he was willing to admit.

Quickly, gently, “You don’t have to tell me what you don’t want to tell me.”

“It was…” Shiro’s eyes didn’t meet his. “It was the first time I truly felt…commodified. Even performing as the gladiator wasn’t as dehumanizing. As a Champion I was…seen.” As Sendak’s toy he was used.

(And then thrown away.)

Keith gave him a considering look.

He forced a laugh. “That was dark.”

“I wasn’t expecting a happy answer. All the same I _am_ sorry. Know that we won’t stand for you to be treated with anything less than basic decency.”

Shiro sighed and murmured in Terran: “That that isn’t the default of this place is frankly terrifying…”

-

Lance was still asleep when Keith returned. This was law: Lance was a night owl. He might be up by noon, with luck.

Keith fell into bed and nuzzled Lance with his wet hair anyway, nipping at his nose and lips until Lance roused with an annoyed groan. He slapped him.

Keith laughed into his throat. “Good morning.” Nuzzle nuzzle.

“I hate you.”

Keith kissed him.

“Why are you so _wet?”_

“I practiced the ritual called bathing today.”

Lance turned into the pillow with a snort.

“I went walking with Shiro this morning.”

Lance’s eyes flew open. His hands were stiff: “Did you bully him?”

“ _No._ Why would I bully your new favourite?”

“You’re still my second—no, third.”

“Third? Who’s your second favourite?”

“Lanceria.”

“She doesn’t count she’s everyone’s favourite.”

“Kolivan then.”

“Do you have a fling going on with Kolivan that I don’t know about?”

“Why? Want to watch?”

Keith lifted his hand to smack him.

Lance jumped under the sheets. _“I was kidding! I was kidding I was kidding!”_

They tousled then Lance slinked out of bed. He yawned and stretched and slipped to the floor, one leg after the other, plod-plod. Keith made no secret of watching him. He sported long swathes of warm skin and bruises on hips and ass from last night’s romp. He wore only a threadbare slip that censored Lance’s shape and little else. As he stood Keith caught a flash—and whiff—of his wet pussy. He kept his arousal to himself. His teeth sharpened. He crossed his legs.

Lance lazily asked, “What did you and Shiro talk about?”

“Oh, just the fifteen hundred or so ways he’ll raw me until I’m stuffed with spermatozoa.”

Lance screwed his eyes closed and stuck his tongue out. _Gross._

“Did you know he’s an astrophysics teacher?”

Lance looked alert again. He pulled a rug from its shelf. “Really!”

“It’s a science, right? It sounds like a hard science.”

“It’s the study of how the universe works, I think.”

“Isn’t that just physics?”

“Apparently physics on Earth and physics off Earth are two different things.”

“What.”

“And _that_ is why _I_ am not an astrophysicist.” He lay out the mat and stretched. “That’s at and beyond tertiary level education. I didn’t think Shiro was foolish but… _damn.”_

Keith agreed.

Lance’s signing got more elegant as he flexed his toes and stretched his hams and pressed his forehead to straight knees. The open patio doors put him in silhouette, shining through his shirt and creating a blurred outline of his narrow waist and wide chest. Keith was happy to watch him grow more limber and sedate as he progressed to challenging stretches.

Lance leaned back back back back until his hips pointed to heaven and the palms of his hands splayed on the ground. He transitioned into a handstand. He held it, danced around with it, and Keith laughed even as he overtly ogled him.

Lance cartwheeled out of his shirt and was standing before Keith. “What do you think?”

“Flexible and strong as ever.” He curled his fingers around the back of Lance’s knees and kissed his belly.

Lance blushed. “I meant about Shiro. I know how to pick ‘em, huh?”

“He’s…smart,” his voice was muffled in Lance’s skin. “And strong: spiritually, emotionally and mentally. And he’s sweet. Considerate. He’s amazing. One of a kind.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there.”

“I’m scared that you might want to adopt him.”

“Come again?”

“You tend to aggressively befriend people when you like them.”

“Like who?”

“Me.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“My family.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Princess Allura.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Keith glared and Lance pouted.

“My point is that Shiro is not going to stay. He has every intention of being reunited with his husband and going home. I don’t want you investing your feelings in him—platonic or otherwise—and then being heartbroken when he leaves.”

“Oh shush,” Lance pushed his forehead and Keith collapsed into the bed with a sigh. “I’m not going to _not_ make friends with the man who’s going to impregnate us.”

“Of course. What was I thinking?” Keith grinned. His grin turned lecherous as Lance crawled over him, sensuality in every bump and curl of his limbs. “Hmm?”

“Mm,” he kissed him. He lowered his hips and rocked against Keith’s groin.

“I just bathed,” Keith complained against his lips.

Lance ignored him.

Keith breathed into Lance’s familiar kisses. He let his husband trail his long articulate fingers up his wrists and enclose on hand and then the other. He succumbed to the silky lips pressed to his throat and moaned, unashamed.

Lance stopped abruptly.

Keith blushed. Did he make a weird sound?

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “You’re taking this _really_ well.”

“I mean, _yeah,_ can you blame me? You did that whole naked acrobatic thing and now you’re grinding on me like—”

“Not that. I mean Shiro.”

Keith didn’t understand.

“Like…I know we’ve talked about this but I just dropped in your lap that I want King Zarkon’s ex-alpha a.k.a the undefeated _Champion_ to raw you six ways to Sunday and you responded by…going out on a walk with him.”

“I thought you’d be happy I’m trying to get along.”

“I am. But it’s also suspicious as hell.”

“Why?”

“I mean…you throw a bitch fit when I bring home cats and dogs and ferrets—”

“And I still will. Especially pregnant ones.”

“That was one time.”

Horrified, “It was enough.”

“—but you’re really mellow that I brought home a whole _person_ and practically flung him in your lap.”

“How would you expect me to react?”

“With a bit more surprise at least,” he folded his arms. “I feel like I’ve become predictable now. Like I can no longer surprise you.”

Keith smiled and traced a nonsense pattern on Lance’s thigh. “Is that so bad?”

“Yes! How will I keep you around if I’m a basic bitch?”

Keith grinned a lovesick grin. “Aw. You like me.”

Lance glared. “I _married_ you.”

“That means nothing.”

“Nothing!” Lance squeaked. “Does the institution of marriage mean _nothing_ to you?!”

Keith touched the ring at the hollow of his throat, smiling. Lance, blushing, echoed the movement. “Frankly speaking, the more predictable you become the more likely I am to stay with you.”

“What!” He looked so distraught Keith laughed. “Why?”

“Because then I can react better when I find blood and puppy placenta in our marital bed.”

“ _It was one time!”_

_“It was enough.”_

Lance chuckled into his hands.

“Also,” Keith gently pulled his hands away, “also, I know you got Shiro to come here because you want us pregnant but I’m genuinely curious about him. I feel like I can get along with him.” Something about Shiro’s personhood appealed to Keith. He was interested to find out what.

Lance sobered and stared. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

“Huh?”

“That…I’m not the _only_ one who wants us to have a baby, right?”

“What? Wait—no! No—I want them. I want to. I _want_ to expand our family.”

“You’ve always been hesitant.”

“Well, yes. We’ll be raising a whole new person. We’ll be responsible for their upbringing and nutrition and education. I think being at least a little scared is normal.”

Lance was horrified. “You never said you were _scared!”_

“Reluctant then?”

“That’s even worse!”

“There’s no pleasing you. Nervous? Anxious?”

“If you don’t want to do this—”

Keith sat up and gathered Lance in his arms. “You get so _panicky_.” Lance wriggled, a little pissed and worried, but Keith held fast and spoke strong and low. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear. I _want_ to expand our family. I _want_ your kid. I worry sometimes but isn’t that normal? I’m scared for them. We don’t live in a world that’s kind to alpha. We don’t live in a world that’s kind to people who look like me.”

Lance pulled back, confused. “Beautiful?”

Keith blushed. “Marmora,” he corrected. It was almost endearing how Lance tended to forget.

“Oh…” Lance was twiddling with his thumbs. Keith gave him his fingers and Lance took to them hungrily. “If you want to change your mind—”

“I don’t. I worry, is all.” He huffed a little. “My parents all say that that’s a given. They don’t stop worrying about me even now.”

Lance stared into his lap. Petulantly, “So you’re okay with raising our kid?”

Keith kissed Lance’s knuckles. “Yes, Lance.”

“And you’re okay with Shiro?”

“Yes, Lance.”

“And you’re telling me the whole truth?”

Keith didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m worried that this isn’t the best time.”

Lance lifted his hand and breathed to reply but paused. Keith watched him glance at the doorway and then scramble beneath the sheets to cover himself. “Lance?” he looked at the door.

Shiro was there. He had parted the curtain and lifted his fingers from the doorjamb. His knocking must have notified Lance. “Hi.”

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith rubbed the writhing mass of Lance behind him. “Come in, make yourself at home. What’s up?”

“Sorry to bother,” he was blushing a little. Had he seen Lance? Or did he smell their latent arousal? Alpha noses were sharper, weren’t they? “I forgot my reading material here yesterday.”

Keith poked at the blob of Lance behind him. Lance appeared. He was still mostly covered and cowered behind Keith, and slipped his hands over his shoulders to gesture as he spoke, “Did you only want to read today?”

Every other gesture smacked Keith’s cheek or tweaked his nose. He hissed a little and Lance licked the back of his ear in reply.

“I figured I’d try to put a dent in these books. Why? Did you need me?”

“Not _need_ per say but I would _love_ if you came on a date with us. Get to know one another. Our treat, of course.”

Keith was more concerned with batting Lance’s fingers out of his nose.

Shiro failed to hide his smile at their antics completely. Smiling looked good on him. What a difference a good meal, a bath and a night of rest did for the man. “Sure.”

“Nice. We leave in an hour?”

“Okay.” His smile jerked a little again. “Later, Keith.”

Keith’s wave was diminished by Lance pulling his mouth wide. As he left Keith was almost certain his shoulders shook with laughter.

“You have him laughing at us,” Keith complained.

Lance kissed him. “That’s good. We’re less threatening now, associated with laughter and goofing around.”

“Fuck, you sound so _clinical._ ”

Lance rolled his eyes. “It’s my job to disarm people, Keith.”

Keith was unamused and stared at him. “Maybe don’t carry your work home.”

He sensed a change in the air. “Oh.” He felt strange, like something else wearing the skin of a human. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like…?”

“Like I’m weird.”

Keith sighed, relented, pressed a chaste kiss to Lance’s pout. “But you _are_ weird.”

Lance creamed him with a pillow.

-

Not for the first time Shiro wondered about the empty spaces on their shoulders. A Mark would fit there.

Lance wore shirts that showed off his skin as if proud it was unmarked, but Keith’s clothes—sleeveless, thin, a bit too large for him and tucked into a low-rise midi-length skirt—drew attention to his chiseled forearms and away from his stocky shoulders.

He walked behind them as they traversed the skeleton market.

“Stop that,” Lance grasped his wrist and tugged him forward so that Shiro stood between them. “You’re falling into bad habits again.”

Keith said, “It’s been one day, Lance, go easy on him.”

Lance frowned up at Shiro’s face and tsked. “Your eyes are still a little yellow…I want to take you to the doctor and have you looked over. Can we do that after breakfast please?”

Shiro jerked to look to Keith, who raised a brow in question, then over his shoulder.

“What are you looking for?”

Shiro slipped his hand out of Lance’s hand. “Nothing. Nothing.” He swallowed. Fresh produce and lilting tarpaulins danced in his vision. “I don’t feel...”

Keith reacted quickly. He escorted them out of the threadbare crowd while Lance was gearing up to insist. They sat in a narrow stairwell that was dark and smelled unused. It led to the rooftop of someone’s home by appearances: there was a gate to keep riff raff out. Keith blocked strangers’ eyes with his body and Lance kneeled in his shadow, in front of Shiro, who sat with his head between his knees.

“Don’t touch him, don’t scent him,” Keith whispered urgently. Lance yanked his hand back. “Just let him settle.”

Lance looked miserable. He signed, “What did I do?”

“Nothing that I can tell. Maybe mention of a doctor triggered a memory, like,” Keith’s eyes flickered to Shiro’s heaving shoulders, “a bad amputation.”

Lance’s eyes widened in sympathy.

“We have to be patient with him.”

“I didn’t even recognize he was freaking out.”

“It’s not like every anxiety attack looks like mom screaming in her sleep.”

Lance grimaced. Krolia was far better in recent years, but when she first moved in she had terrible nightmares and she wasn’t the only one. Sometimes Lance couldn’t sleep listening to Keith or Thace quietly calming her down, or Regris, or Acxa.

“Don’t crowd him,” Keith tapped his shoulder. “I know you’re worried. Just let him breathe.”

Lance stood. “We’re here for you, Shiro. You’re in a safe place.”

Shiro made a sound in recognition but it came out as a whimper. Lance itched to hold him. He played with Keith’s hair instead.

Shiro eventually stood. “I’m…alright. Now.”

They smiled and turned to him.

“Is it okay if I ask what I did? So I won’t do it again?”

Shiro’s arm wrapped around to his right side. “I’m not a fan of doctors.” He stared at their feet.

Lance looked to Keith for help. He needed a checkup. He was malnourished, Lance could see that. Last night’s buffet did him a world of good but what if it wasn’t enough?

“Leave it for now,” Keith signed to Lance. To Shiro, “Alright. Sorry to have hurt you. Do you feel well enough to go on or do you want to go back?”

Shiro shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t push yourself.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Lance flinched but Keith simply nodded. “Okay. Let’s go then.” He started them off, Lance’s fingers tangled in his. After a moment he glanced over his shoulder: “And stop walking _behind_ us.”

Shiro never did again.

They arrived at the eatery with no further excitement. The booth they held was curtained. It was warmly lit by a heavily embellished hanging lamp and lingering sunlight through distant windows.

Lance was entangled in Keith’s side, his feverish hands working on nothing in particular. It didn’t seem to bother Keith who flicked through the menu one-handed.

Shiro thought: _what an odd couple._

Their devotion was undeniable, but Keith seemed the type to submit to his husband and Lance had the air of an accidental bully. They didn’t seem like the healthiest match. He would be a fool, though, if he dismissed the obvious trust and range in their communication. Their foundation was rock solid. Shiro was simply impressed it existed to begin with.

“May I ask you something?”

Lance perked up and Keith, feeling the movement, did the same.

“Why do you do that?” and he imitated Lance’s fidgeting.

Lance instantly threw his hands into his lap and ducked his head.

“Hey,” Keith said in a warning tone. Shiro warmed in apprehension, but he wasn’t being spoken to. Keith was facing Lance, pulling at his chin. “It was just a question. He just asked a question, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

“He just wants to understand.”

“Yeah.”

Shiro bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I…”

Keith shook his head. “Lance is a little sensitive about it. His moms tried to get him out of the habit before their physician told them to let him have it. He does it when he’s nervous, that’s all.”

“Oh.” That story was familiar. “One of my husband’s kids was like that. She was brilliant but couldn’t focus without her rubber toys. She’d fiddle with them as she listened to lectures.”

“I have puzzles,” Lance blushed and spoke slowly, “I haven’t solved any of them though. I just like dicking around with them.”

Shiro smiled. “I find puzzles more fun when I stop trying to figure them out too. Do you have a lot?"

“A few,” Lance brightened, a happy kid all over again. “Keith always brings me one whenever he has a mission that’s more than a week long.”

Keith made an interested face. “I do? _That_ often?”

“You don’t even recognize it. You dolt.” He kissed his cheek.

“Mm.”

“I’d love to see your puzzles one day, if that’s alright.”

Lance shrieked, “Really! Yeah! I’ll show you when we go home. I have lots! I have one where the boxes pop out depending on how I push them and—”

Keith was unamused. Shiro was as quick to shut them out as he was quick to offer Lance the branch of understanding. They’d have to keep an eye on that.

Others would tell him and Lance that they were investing too much in an alpha. Why take the time to know him? Why befriend him? Simply wait for or incite his heat and be done, they’d say. Friendship was a waste of time when the alpha instinct was to move on. They didn’t make families. Some argued that they were incapable of love altogether.

Lance and Keith didn’t believe that by virtue of being raised by their sires.

“It’s the _culture_ of alienating alpha from the family unit that instills in them the desire to ‘move on’, as they put it,” Ilun had argued once. “It’s all they’ve been exposed to since they were young. But if you take them out of that environment—like Lance’s dad when he was wrangled into a relationship with his wives from early—or us who have no choice _but_ to stay a family—you realize that the majority of alpha behavior is a reflection of their environment, not of their instincts!”

Krolia had replied: “Genuinely fascinating. Finish your vegetables.”

Shiro was no stud. He didn’t behave like “traditional” alpha. He didn’t act as though he were beneath anyone—his habits of deference were conscious, not second nature. What did that imply about _Terran?_

What sort of land was a place where alpha could marry other alpha? Where they could be tertiary education lecturers? Where they could love and the society didn’t fall apart?

Shiro and his people threatened the status quo of the Altean Empire.

(It was for this reason that Keith was convinced there was more than baby fever that drove Lance to protect Shiro.)

Their food arrived.

“Okay,” Lance said three swallows of dumpling later, “okay. So today’s the first day we’re all together. Let’s get the tough questions out of the way.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Lance made a crude gesture at Keith. Shiro chuckled.

“Do you have questions for us, Shiro?”

“Yeah, sure. A few.”

“Well shoot!” He gobbled up rice.

“Why are you so hungry? You ate yesterday.”

“Yesterday was yesterday, Keith.”

“But—”

“Yesterday was yesterday, Keith.”

Keith glared and squeezed his lips together in an angry pout.

Shiro laughed, “How long have you two been married?”

Lance was surprised. “I thought you’d be asking more questions about how this contracted relationship was going to work.”

“I’m working up to that.”

“You see this? This. THIS. That grace. That candor. The eroticism of patience! Keith, I’m in love.”

Shiro blinked.

“Lance, you’re scaring him.”

“We’ve been married a year and a bit,” Lance sobered with a goofy chuckle. “We met three years ago when I went off to hunt pirates.”

Shiro’s wide eyes flickered to Keith.

Keith smiled, “It’s a long story. Lance tells it best.”

“Is this the same story about how you liberated Narquod?”

“Liberated is a strong word—”

Keith interrupted, “They have independence as a direct result of your action.”

Lance made a face. “Anyway, we’ve been together three years. I’ve been living with his family just as long.”

“Is that the tradition? For the omega to live with the beta’s family?”

Keith perked up. “Is it different for you?”

“Alphas and betas live with their families in Terran,” he said slowly, wary of their responses. Their faces were only open so he continued. “Usually alpha and beta get married before looking for an omega, though it’s not uncommon for the order to get mixed around. When three people come together they move in with the omega. Omega are usually the homemakers, and they own the land and the homes and the stock. But that doesn’t put them in a position of power the way it does here.”

“But you were married to an alpha,” Keith remembered. “So who lived with who?”

“We built a home together. There’s no hard and fast rule on how to love and come together, so we weren’t a spectacle or anything.”

Lance asked, “There are no slaves in Terran are there.”

“No. None. The work you delegate to alpha slaves here—repairing aqueducts and building roads—that’s just a civil duty that’s rotated among all members of society back home.” He smiled a little, remembering the songs that would ebb and flow throughout the day as they built walls and plowed fields.

“Did you only have one husband?”

Shiro nodded. He volunteered nothing more. “You said you would be able to find him.”

“I have attendants combing ledgers from the past six years as we speak. I’ll have a lead by the end of the day.”

Shiro looked impressed.

Keith’s spoon twisted between his fingers as he said, “You’re fucking scary, Lanceria.”

“I had to do it right away otherwise I’d forget.”

Keith nodded, threaded his fingers through Lance’s, and kissed his knuckles. Shiro saw the tiny forming fold in Lance’s brow immediately wash away.

“Okay,” Lance signed with his utensils too. “So we asked you, like, four questions and you only asked one, so you can ask us four now.”

“Oh! Uh, alright. Um. Do you have anything for me to do during the day?”

Lance’s shoulders sunk. “Babe. We’ve talked about this.”

Keith didn’t understand. “You want a job or something?”

“No, like. Duties. For me to do. Chores? Responsibilities?”

Lance insisted, “You can do whatever you want!”

But Keith understood. He was looking for purpose. Listless freedom meant nothing to him right now, not now when his brain was still wired to the heartbeat of the coliseum. So he said: “Yes. Every morning take a jog with me.”

Lance stared at him.

“We’ll work our way up from there. How’s that?”

Shiro nodded. “I can do that.”

Lance recognized something unspoken exchanged between them. He let it lie. “Second question?”

Shiro put down the bread he was about to eat. He frowned. “Actually, there is something I’m worried about: won’t King Zarkon notice his prized Champion is missing?”

Lance waved his hand. “Oh, never mind that. It’s fine.”

“How is it fine? What’s to stop him from just…taking me back?”

“Laws, for one,” Lance scoffed. “I know the Altean Empire looks like a giant bully full of other bullies who do whatever the shit they want but there _are_ rules, rules that even kings can’t bypass easily. You’re mine fair and square. And in a way I’ve done King Zarkon a favor taking you out of the ring. With you out of sight the Coalition protestors loose a little wind out of their sails.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “You really think that thin excuse will hold against the king?”

“Hello? King Zarkon is petty as _shit._ He passes laws to shut up the people he hates and liberates countries because greedy little senators piss him off. If his Champion magically disappears and the Coalition lose morale because of it he’d count it as a win.”

“Nice to know I wasn’t as important as you made me out to be.”

Lance snorted. “You’re _plenty_ important babe. That’s why he wanted you dead.”

Shiro stared at his plate.

Keith quietly convened with Lance: “Perhaps try tact next time?”

“I’ll try but he’s making it his job to piss me off.”

Keith flicked his ear.

“Ow.”

“You have two more questions, Shiro. If you want them.”

“Let me think about it,” he said sullenly to his plate.

Lance said _he’s being a baby_ when Keith looked to him for a translation. He rolled his eyes and ate.

Shiro, freed from their inquisition, was quick to stuff his cheeks. His brow was black with thought. Much like yesterday he didn’t pause to savor his food. He ate quickly—though not messily, he devoured every crumb—utterly devoted to the task of getting something in his belly. His eyes filled with crocodile tears and slipped down his fat cheeks. He continued eating.

Keith nibbled on the lip of his porcelain cup and watched tears fall to the edge of Shiro’s plate _plop plop._ Shiro sniffed. Keith smacked Lance’s forearm.

“ _Ow._ Babe, what…” he froze.

Shiro finally drew back from his plate and swallowed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He whimpered.

Lance scrambled to his side. “Shiro, what is it? Was it me? Was it what I said?” In response to an aborted hiccup, “Baby I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I know I’m tactless. I should’ve said it better. I won’t say I didn’t mean it—”

Keith groused, “Two steps forward and one step back.”

“—r-right right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re wanted, I promise. We want you. We do. For _you_. Not because of some socio-political agenda, I promise.”

Keith groused, “Maybe not mention that bit.”

Shiro’s shoulders shuddered. “N-n-no—t that…”

“Hm?” Lance gently pulled his arm down to wipe Shiro’s messy fingers and dab at his wet cheeks. When he placed his hand on one jaw to angle his face to him, their eyes met and Shiro looked so soulful Lance thought he felt tears coming to _his_ eyes.

Shiro wiped the back of his mouth and swallowed. “I…this,” he pointed to his plate. “It tastes like. Like what I used to have for lunch. At the college. We’d…buy these from the vendor across the street almost…every day.” He cried and laughed. “She started giving us a discount. Said she was happy to get us fat.”

Lance looked at the plate of half eaten something. He said, “Take care of him for me.”

Shiro felt Keith shift closer. Lance went away.

“Where is he going?”

“...repeat?”

Shiro faced him. “Where is Lance going?”

“To ask the chef some questions if I had to guess.” His eyes flickered over his features. “Will you be alright?”

“Just fine. Just overwhelmed.”

Keith nodded and nudged a cup of water towards him.

“Thanks.”

Keith nodded.

They sat in silence—and Shiro popped a cherry or two in his mouth—until the screen parted and a stranger appeared behind Lance.

Shiro vaulted to his feet.

He was taller now, gaunter, and his hair was short and wild but his eyes were the same and his face was just as angular. It was Matthew, undoubtedly.

“Takashi…!”

-

It was not his husband.

That was one of the first things they divined when Matt escorted them to the back. There were more people who looked like him there in a messy, sunlit office.

“Pidge!”

_“Professor Shiro!?”_

A teenage girl threw her tools aside to run into his embrace. Even one handed he held her up with ease but she was a slight little thing, all wild hair and bones. Their father was to follow. He had grey in his hair and his clothes were loose on him like he lost a lot of weight very fast. He moved quick for an older fellow and was sobbing like a baby. Each and every one of them spoke thick Terran.

“Do you understand them?” Keith asked.

Lance glared at him like _who do you think I am?_

“Sorry.”

“They’re saying what you might expect. We miss you. You look healthy. What happened to you.”

“We might be here a while.”

“Do you mind staying? I need to go to the library.”

Keith made a face, _for what?_

“I want to take a look at the ledgers I asked my people to look through.”

“It’s only morning, do you really think they would have made a dent?”

“No, I’m not going there to harass them into hurrying up, I’ll be going there to help.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, I want you to stay with Shiro.”

Keith jerked back. His gestures were swift and sharp: “What are you not telling me?”

“It’s not me he’s going to be having sex with, it’s you. You two should get to know one another. And today’s a good day: he’s emotionally vulnerable from seeing his old friends. Let him associate that feeling of happiness with you by staying by his side.”

“Do you realize how _manipulative_ you sound?”

Lance was confused.

Keith looked away, disturbed.

Lance tapped his cheek so that he faced him again. “His choice of whether or not he likes you is _his choice._ All you have to do is be there for him today and be yourself. How is that manipulative?”

Keith sighed. “And you don’t even _see it._ ”

Lance was more confused.

“Forget it. We’ll talk later. Take Acxa with you.”

“Acxa? Why? Regris tends to be available for me.”

“Because Regris wants at your bussy. Take Acxa.”

“I think you’re being overcautious—”

“ _Take Acxa.”_

“Hi.”

Lance jumped. Keith had seen the approach from the corner of his eye.

“Forgive me. My name is Sam.” He offered his arm and Lance took it, grasping and shaking from the elbow. Keith echoed him. Sam was surprised. “It’s the first I’ve seen an Altean willingly do a Terran shake.”

“Languages and cultures are my thing,” Lance was smooth. “I’m Lanceria de Leone. This is my husband Yorakeith of Marmora.”

“Yes, Takashi told us that you rescued him from the circus. _Thank you._ When my daughter told me it was our old friend there…” he wiped at his pink eyes. “Thank you.”

Keith, arms folded, nodded.

“It was our pleasure.” Lance placed his arms akimbo, “How do you know Shiro?”

“Oh, he was an old student of mine. And then in turn he taught my youngest.” He paused. “How much do you know…?”

“We know that he was a teacher of astrophysics in Terran and his alpha husband was a teacher in advanced mathematics. He was still telling us about how property and marriage and life worked in Terran before Ranveig’s campaign, then he took a bite of your bread and broke down.”

“Oh,” he moved his glasses. “That’s Colleen’s recipe. My wife. She…she was alpha so…”

 _She’s either imprisoned or working as a POW or someone’s stud,_ Lance let his smile fall. “I’m sorry.”

Keith saw a glint in Lance’s eye.

“When did you last see her?”

Sam told him. They chatted a little bit. Lance’s powers were such that Sam was giving weak laughs every towards the end of their conversation. By then Lance had a fair amount of information.

Keith asked, “Will you look for this Colleen too?”

Lance smiled at him like _who do you think I am?_

-

Matt and Sam still had a business to run.

“They’ll come around later,” Pidge adjusted her spectacles. She sat on the chair backwards and grinned at her old teacher. She put down a bowl on the dais between them: a bowl of freshly baked garlic knots. “Help yourself, more where that came from! I want to hear everything. What happened after the first canons broke out? Matt said he looked for you but…”

They were on a tiny verandah one story up from the main street. Keith sat, the odd one out, heedless of their rapid fire conversation as he helped himself to the offered snacks. His eyes flickered between their faces and the narrow view of the city.

Pidge paid him little to no heed beyond, “Hi, I’m Katie but I prefer to be called Pidge.”

Keith had replied, “I’m Yorakeith. I can’t hear well. I don’t speak Terran. You’re free to ignore me.”

“Okay!” And she did just that.

Shiro spared a minute to wonder if she wasn’t curious about the short sword on his hip.

He walked her through what happened. The canons struck in the middle of the night. There was running and screaming—he almost lost his life trying to put out the fires in their home had Adam not yanked him free. They took up revolvers and barricaded the school for weeks. They kept most of the invaders at bay while families, like Pidge’s family, took to the jungles.

“A lot of them went to ruins to hide,” Pidge inputted pockets of Shiro’s missing memory. “We did too but we were caught, like, the next day. They kept sending scouts in after us to wrangle us. Mom was taken from us but we were escorted to the city and branded refugees. We haven’t seen her since but dad has an eye on the record of alpha deaths. We know she’s still out there we just don’t know where she is.”

“You…what?”

“That’s how we knew that you and Adam were still alive. And then a year ago Matt said he saw you at the coliseum.”

Shiro nodded. “I was a personal…servant to a senator before he…bartered me away to King Zarkon.”

“Are you serious? That’s disgusting! This place is fucking _sick_.”

“Language, Pidge,” it was a reprimand so automatic that she didn’t even stop.

“And what’s even sicker is that the entire city _acts like nothing’s wrong._ Like dragging grown people around on _fucking leashes_ is the way God intended it. And don’t even get me started on the stud dens!”

“The what?”

She watched him carefully. “Places where people go to have sex with alpha. I’ve been to one once. I…followed my dad. He was looking for mom in those places. It smelled…God. It smelled _awful._ And you had all these glassy eyed alpha who were high off their asses and didn’t even recognize their ruts were artificial. And they were kept like that all the time.”

Shiro swallowed but nothing went down. He was loathe to think himself lucky but at least his mind was intact.

Keith pushed a cup of water towards him.

“Thank you, Keith…”

Keith nodded, reading the mood, and went on surveying the world below.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s fine.” He drank.

“You haven’t gone through anything like that have you?”

Shiro reflexively thought of Sendak but shook his head. “I’ve never been drugged.”

Pidge’s eyes flickered to where his stump would be beneath the robe that cut across his torso diagonally. “Not even for…”

“Not even for that,” he agreed grimly. “I wasn’t conscious during the procedure though.”

“Is that any better?”

Shiro preferred to believe so.

“So,” and her tone encouraged something lighter than amputation, “what was with the smiley-creepy omega and short-dark-n-spooky over here?”

Shiro smiled a little. “They got me out and gave me my freedom.”

Without missing a beat: “What’s the catch?”

“They claim there isn’t any. Oh,” he blinked a little, “they’re trying for a baby.”

“And asked _you_ to get in on the action? That’s kinda messed up. Read: _profoundly_ messed up. Prof: these omega and the nobles that hang off their arms are all sorts of inhumane. They keep inventing grosser and more morally ambiguous games just to keep their high. I mean, isn’t it suspect that they break out the Champion of the arena just to make him a baby daddy? Sounds like they’re in it just for the props. _Hey, our kid was sired by a BAMF!_ ”

“Point, though they’ve said again and again that’s just an option. I don’t have to do this.”

“Bullshit.”

“Language.”

“Alright, fine.” She sat up straight. “Assuming that yeah you don’t _have_ to stick around and pay back their _‘generosity’_ with your baby batter—”

“Ew, Pidge.”

“—what then? Aren’t they just gonna put you back wherever you came from cause you didn’t go along with their games? Or worse?”

“What worse could they do? My freedom is already being processed. I’ll receive the document in a few days.”

“Okay one: freedom was _always_ yours, it’s not fair that they GAVE you your—”

Shiro put up a hand to belay her. “We know. We all know.”

She huffed. “Second? What if it’s just some elaborate ruse to gain your trust?”

“To what end?”

“To _their_ end.”

“Pidge, they’ve treated me more humanely than anyone I’ve ever met since…”

“They’ve treated you with basic decency!” Pidge rolled her eyes, “Prof, are you brainwashed?!”

“You’re saying it sounds too good to be true.”

“It _is_ too good to be true! You know what I think?” She didn’t let him answer. “I think you should leave. Just, up and walk out first chance you get. You found us, you can stay with _us._ We’ll protect each other. And we have a good thing going here. It took a lot to get us off the ground but we’re here to stay and we’re not leaving, definitely not before we find mom. Live with us.”

Shiro pulled another garlic knot from the bowl. Despite himself he glanced at Keith.

Keith had one arm on the railing. His bangs fluttered lightly in the breeze. His fingers were tapping, whether because he was talking to himself or missed the texture of Lance’s fingers between his was anyone’s guess. This was the first time he noticed his fingers had extra joints.

“I’ve gone through a lot the past twenty-four hours, Pidge. Hell, the past four years. I need time to…to think. To figure it out.”

Pidge frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. I’m scared I’ll never see you again.”

“Don’t cry. You look ugly when you cry.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled and rubbed his thumb under her eye.

-

The streets were red from sunset and Shiro was emotionally exhausted. Was it just really yesterday he was scooped out of the dungeon? Either the past year was so monotonous or the past day was so stimulating that it felt like too much time had passed. He felt like missed six holidays since he met Lance.

Keith for the first time reached for him. “Walk up,” he said. “Jaywalkers attract pickpockets.”

“I don’t have anything in my pockets.”

Keith scoffed. “You’re such a kid. Walk up, will you?”

Shiro did. He nudged Keith’s shoulder. Keith looked up at him. “This isn’t the way home.”

Keith was impressed and let it show on his face. Shiro had great sense of place. “We’re going to the public library. That’s where Lance is.”

“I have a question.”

Wryly, “Your third question at last?”

“What is a knotslut?”

Keith was cool and unresponsive for so long that Shiro wondered if he understood. They walked into the light and under a bridge.

“Knotslut?” he repeated carefully.

Shiro nodded.

“Where did you hear that?”

“At the bathhouse yesterday.” He paused. “Attendants referred to Lance that way.”

“Do you remember what they look like?”

Shiro shrugged, “Yeah, uh. Why?”

“I need you to identify them for me the next time we go.”

“W-why?” Would he hurt them? “What is it?”

“Knotslut is a term for people who have recreational sex with beings that have knots, like alpha and dogs. They were basically calling Lance an unrepentant blasphemous animal fucker.”

Shiro swallowed. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. People who say that think alpha as subhuman. They painted you and Lance in the same stroke.”

“I…it’s inescapable in this place. I’m used to it.”

Keith’s eyes lingered on him then faced forward. He turned to Shiro suddenly with a frown, “Did Lance hear them?”

“Y-yes.”

“How did _he_ react?”

“He smiled…and told them he appreciated their hard work.”

Keith threw his head back and cackled. “I would _kill_ to have seen the looks on their faces!”

Shiro chuckled a little. He found Keith’s rare smile settling and infectious. It looked good on his face, almost looked misplaced on his face, like his humor was too grand for his cheeks to contain all of it. Like most things Keith threw his all into his laughter: his back bowed, his shoulders shook, his walking faltered.

“And here I was wondering how to castrate them. Lance knows how to handle himself. I keep forgetting that.”

Shiro faced forward in a flash. He suddenly remembered his patrons were very scary.

The library came into view. A wide swatch of stairs led up to three tall doorways that looked narrow from the distance. Sprawling to their left and right were featureless wings of square windows and cracked pillars. The building was old, classical, and strangely out of place amidst a city of smooth walls of plaster, shuttered windows and flat roofs for storing grain and vegetable gardens.

“This building has been here since before Gregory put down roots here,” Keith answered Shiro when he described his observation. “Some say it’s been here since the old world and maintained. Ilun and Vrek would be able to tell you the ins and outs of how that theory holds water. I’m no history buff.”

“If not history what do you like?”

“Heh,” his gestures were loose and confident. “I love dancing.”

Shiro was surprised.

“Martial arts, dancing, ball sports, anything that involves co-ordination with my body, I like it.”

Shiro thought of the jogs he’d be accompanying Keith on starting tomorrow.

“You?”

Shiro had an answer when they reached the top of the stairs. “Reading. Learning people.”

“Lance’s vices too,” Keith joked. “That and sex.”

Shiro kept his expression neutral.

The inside of the library was dark and pinpricked with isolated lights. They were electric and cold. Moths batted at them. Keith led him up more steps and more steps and more steps. The traffic lessened as they went.

On what Shiro figured was the fourth floor was a reading room of plinths and podiums. Students and scholars shuffled back and forth among shelves that looked everything like Lance’s personal library. There was a dome in the middle of the ceiling that reminded Shiro of the Green Room at the bathhouse. Which came first he wondered?

Keith tugged on his sleeve. He pointed.

Lance stood before a table browsing through a computer with several books and scrolls open around him. His sleeves were rolled up and a band was pulled back to keep his hair out of his eyes. At his beck and call were three attendants. Two were combing through ledgers and one kept vanishing for a new reference. He looked intimidating.

“He’ll be a while,” Keith whispered. He led Shiro to sit at a window with him. The view of Voltron was awesome: a bed of fire and amber.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw the sunset.”

Keith looked through the window and light caught on his nose.

It seemed that each time Shiro was appraising the world Keith was beside him. He felt a sense of kinship with him. They were quiet until the sun fell. An attendant appeared to offer them a lantern. It was electric blue and alive with excited moths.

Shiro tapped Keith’s knee.

He turned to him lazily.

“Teach me your language.”

Keith sat up a little.

“It’ll be easier for you, right?”

Keith nodded. “Are you sure? No-one outside of my family knows this language. Won’t be of use to you after you leave us.”

“Doesn’t matter. I like it, I’d like to learn it. It looks beautiful.”

Keith, a little flattered, straightened. “Okay. Here’s hello.”

Shiro laughed and waved.

“Here’s goodbye.”

Shiro echoed him.

“Here’s ‘oh shit is that a weblum? Run!’.”

Shiro snorted loudly. Someone glared from the darkness: their irises glinted across the way. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“This is sorry.”

Shiro smacked at his hand. “You did that on purpose.”

“You never know when you might run into a weblum.”

Shiro chuckled and copied him.

“Here,” he reached for Shiro’s fingers and rearranged them. “Like this. That’s ‘run’.”

Shiro corrected himself. He didn’t miss the long slope of Keith’s nose and weird articulation of his long, long fingers. “How do I say ‘thank you for today’?”

Keith looked at him sharply. He showed him.

Shiro echoed it. “Thank you for today. It meant a lot that I could see my old friends again.”

“You’re welcome, but that was a fluke. We didn’t know that anyone from Terran would be th—” Keith froze.

“Keith?”

Keith jumped to his feet. “Stay here.” He ran away. He was soundless.

Keith found Lance where he’d seen him an hour ago. His sclera was red and he kept rubbing his eyes. He jumped a full three inches in the air with the fiery way Keith made his approach. Keith was silent but he might as well have been screaming with how big he made his gestures: “Did you know that that restaurant was owned by people from Terran?”

Lance screwed up his face. “Why are you so angry?”

“Answer me!” Keith’s clothes flapped in the empty hall.

Lance stared at him.

“Answer!”

“Yes I did. Why are you angry?”

“You—you!” he pointed at Lance’s nose. “You can’t do this! This is wrong and unfair! You can’t take advantage of people like this! It’s cruel! It’s manipulative!”

“ _What's_ manipulative?!”

“You take Shiro to a place where you _know_ he’ll feel homesick. Then you tell me to stay by his side so it looks like I’m supporting him when he’s at his most vulnerable, all so that he’d trust me to have sex with me down the road?”

“That’s not—”

Wide-eyed and incredulous: “That’s _not_ what you did?”

“I want Shiro to be comfortable with us!”

“Let him feel comfortable on _his terms!_ You can’t always get your way by changing the environment to suit your needs! We aren’t pieces on a chessboard for you to dick around with at your leisure!”

“You think I’m doing this for _fun!?”_

“I think you’re acting no better than a spoiled-ass nobleman.”

Lance hissed, fangs bared, the loudest sound in their argument thus far. Keith stepped close with sharp teeth of his own, unafraid, unrepentant, unapologetic.

From the shadows Acxa ran forward and shoved Keith back.

Keith was surprised to see her and not Regris. (He would’ve been able to take Regris in a fight.)

“Go home and cool off.”

“This doesn’t concern you. Fuck off.”

“Leave. Or I will make you.” She stood solidly between them, solidly a half foot taller than her little brother. She held her forearm against his sternum and pushed slightly. “Go.”

He clicked his tongue at her, bade Lance a parting glare, and turned on his heel, heedless of the attendants and students and Shiro who stared after him.

Shiro stepped forward. He caught Lance’ heartbroken expression just before it smoothed into neutrality and then practiced joy when their eyes met. “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re here. I have good news!”

Shiro stepped forward and nodded. “Good evening, Acxa.”

“Hello, Shiro.”

“I found the original records of Adam! He was a civil servant for a few months but his position was elevated a few times for good behavior. He was bought by a young lord in the south but after that he was gifted to someone else. Unfortunately gifts aren’t recorded the same way, so—”

In Terran, “Do you know where he is or not?”

Lance’s smile was fixed. “Not…yet. Not _yet._ But I will. I just need to look at recent birth certificates and cross reference them with records of gift exchanges for the past three years—”

Shiro touched his shoulder. “Thank you. Emphatically. You’ve done more for me these past two days than most have done the past two years. But right now I think you should take a break.”

Lance began fidgeting with his fingers. “Mm? But I I’m almost done I can do this. I can find him I promise.”

Shiro recalled the grace of Keith’s hands as he reached forward. Would Lance…?

Lance’s fingers hooked into his like an insect snapping up her prey. They moved like each had a mind of its own tracing and retracing Shiro’s knuckles, callouses and dead skin. Shiro twitched when the pads of Lance’s fingers pressed against his blunt fingernails. Shivers ran up and down his arm despite himself.

“I believe you,” he managed. “I believe in you. But let’s go home now.”

“I’ll forget to do it later if I stop now.”

“No you won’t. I’ll remind you.”

“This isn’t how I _work,_ Takashi!”

“I don’t want to see you exhausted and Keith angry because of me.”

Lance jerked away. “That’s different.”

“Let’s go home please?” He kept his hand outstretched.

Lance, jittery, stayed glued to the spot for a hot second.

He slipped his hand into Shiro’s and their fingers threaded together.


	5. Hastily Spoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters toggle between spoken language and sign language, sometimes both at once, and sometimes between spoken languages. I’m hard pressed to italicize the differences, but that could warrant confusion. Instead I bring attention to sign language if there’s a mention of gestures, “fluid strokes” or the like. When people switch between spoken languages I mention it point blank.  
> I feel like this cheapens how the chapter reads, like a dull soliloquy, but I want to be clear first. Opinions of how I treated languages in this chapter are welcome and, as always, optional.
> 
> Also the Marmora martial art’s history and style was inspired by capoeira.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Shiro tried to turn on his back but the pillow was jammed into his side. Weariness slammed into him suddenly. He had a pulse of disorientation and fear. He slowly exhaled as he remembered where he was and the last two days leaked into his consciousness drip by drip.

He remembered: the steam flowing over the milky bathwater like a second current. The shape of Lance’s shoes. The timbre of Keith’s voice. Their smooth shoulders in the yellow light of the marketplace. The taste of a forgotten meal. The ringing in his ear from Pidge’s shrieking. The sign for ‘hello’ and ‘weblum’ in the form of Keith’s blue, weird hands. The feeling of Lance’s small hand in his as they walked home.

He blew out a sigh. His bones ached, unused to the treatment of rich plentiful food and calm, sedated walks. He remembered that Keith invited him to run each morning. What time was it?

A cursory glance towards the window put him nose to nose with the little prince.

Shiro stopped breathing.

The uncomfortable pillow was the soft body of _Lance._ He had a leg thrown over Shiro’s hip and in response to his subtle thrashing Lance burrowed his nose into the back of his neck. He breathed in deeply and sighed, the figure of contentment.

Shiro was so panicked his heart was utterly still. He gradually gradually peeled the sheet off. He slid Lance’s thigh from his body. He felt dangerously warm. Bit by bit, inch by inch, Shiro rolled away. He sprinted out the door. He crashed into Keith.

 _Shit!_ Keith could likely smell Lance all over him. He stumbled back and the back of his head hit the wall. He cursed and immediately ducked.

Keith kneeled in front of him. He didn’t touch him. His voice was concerned and stiff. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Tears in his eyes from the ebbing unexpected pain, he bit his lip, pointed to each earlobe, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Keith blinked. “Yeah, I know.” He tilted his head. “…do you want me to move him?”

Shiro rubbed at his eyes. He nodded.

Keith moved without another word. A few shuffles and a sleepy _mmmmwrerrp?_ later, Keith stepped out of Shiro’s apartment with Lance balled up in his arms. You’d never had thought they had an argument yesterday with how affectionately Lance was nibbling at Keith’s neck.

Keith’s eyes cut over his crumpled form critically. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He paused. “I’ll bring an ice pack for your bang.”

Before Shiro could assure him it wasn’t necessary he’d already turned and walked off at a brisk clip. Keith was strong. His posture remained mostly straight and he took the stairs two at a time despite Lance’s dead weight.

Come to think of it he hadn’t so much as stumbled when he was slammed by Shiro at full throttle. He shivered: running into lean, slim Keith was like running into a wall. _A guild of mercenaries, a young irresistible omegarch, and a formidable reputation that spanned the Empire_. He shivered. What a family.

His head was between his knees when Keith reappeared.

“For the back of your head,” Keith said of the towel. To the touch it was shock cold. “And when you’re ready, drink this.”

Shiro pointed, _this what?_

“It’s a calming tea. No honey or sugar or milk.” Keith was kneeling again and he smirked. “You took to sign really fast.”

Shiro nodded. “Thank you,” he eked out. Keith was a decent teacher. His random and hapless jokes made it easy to associate moods with gestures.

With only one hand there were many gestures that Shiro missed. At the same time, a second hand was more often than not implied, and Keith understood his intentions readily enough. He only asked Shiro pay attention to gesture. “Two fingers out mean something totally different, so watch that.” Shiro’s hands tingled with the ghostly sensation of where Keith had corrected him. Shiro drank.

Keith didn’t say anything about today’s panic attack. Shiro wasn’t sure if he felt grateful or put on the spot. He volunteered, “Lance surprised me.”

Keith’s eyes met his. He said nothing.

“I didn’t expect him to…uh.”

“Lance is very tactile,” Keith answered. His fingers moved slowly. Shiro found it mesmerizing and followed his movements in a trance. “I can ask him to back off.”

Shiro slipped the pack from his neck. “It’s not…it’s not that I don’t like being touched.”

“You don’t owe us an explanation, okay? I’ll ask Lance to back off.”

Shiro put his cup down and said, “Thank you.”

Keith nodded sagely. He was oddly relaxing, Shiro thought. Where Lance was friendly to the point of suspicion, Keith was enigmatic and low energy. _I feel like I could tell him most anything and the worst he would do is smirk at me._

Keith stood. “Are you still up for that jog or do you want to take it easy today?”

“No. I’m getting stir crazy.”

“Stir crazy?” Keith smirked, “Haven’t you travelled farther the past two days than you have the past two months?”

Shiro startled. Despite himself he laughed. He didn’t expect Keith to joke about his time as a slave. A part of him thought it wildly inappropriate. _It’s not his place to joke about that._ The other part was relieved it wasn’t being made into a Thing such that his time as a slave was the only facet of his identity and something shameful to avoid in conversation.

Keith extended his arm. Shiro clasped his hand and surged to his feet. For a hot second he thought he was floating.

“Are you steady?” He was referring to more than just his balance. “You should get changed.”

Keith let him go. Shiro missed him immediately. He was surprised with himself: was he so touch starved that hugs horrified him and handshakes left him hungry for more? _A run will do me good._ He nodded and ducked inside.

The day only grew bleaker as they took their jog up the hill. They might have been working up a better sweat if it weren’t so chilly. Keith set a brisk pace.

He was able to keep up. Keith on occasion threw him a glance to check in. Shiro’s balance was good and he was used to running. He was afraid he wouldn’t match Keith’s stamina but the rain saved him.

Plop! A fat drop fell on his nose. Without missing a beat Keith turned down an alley that Shiro was certain was off the beaten path. Here they had to move slower because the buildings were too close together. They couldn’t stand shoulder to shoulder. The overhangs high above cut through the deluge.

“In here,” Keith guided him up stairs and down another alley to the main road. A brief skip along the cobblestones and they were under the canvas of a store in a part of the city Shiro was unfamiliar with. The water of the bay was closer than ever now, gunmetal and clogged with sails and gulls.

This was an eatery apparently. Shiro eyed the menu over the bar as Keith led him to a corner seat. It was unremarkable. Nothing about its wooden rafters or white tablecloths or glass bottle lights betrayed what kind of cuisine to expect.

Keith sat and undid his hair. It was a wild , recklessly black and curly, a pointy halo spanning his head and shoulders. It fell in his eyes. He looked like a feral beast. He looked beautiful. He looked up.

Shiro flinched.

“Aren’t you gonna sit?”

Shiro sat.

“They make great octopus and liver soup here. Ha, don’t give me that look. It tastes amazing and it’s good for you. And it’s the perfect meal for weather like this.”

Shiro curled his heavy hair behind his ears. He sniffed and shivered a bit. “You come here often?”

“Once in a blue moon. I usually order to go. Wanna try the octopus and liver soup?”

“I won’t turn away food.” His made a dubious face though.

Keith chuckled.

“Show me more. Is this soup?”

“That’s octopus. This is soup.”

“Soup. Octopus soup.”

“That’s right.”

Without speaking: “Does Lance waaant octopus soup?”

“Does Lance want octopus soup?”

Shiro said, “Does he like it, I mean.”

“This is like.” And he gave a thumbs up, “You’re doing great. And Lance eats anything. Pun intended.”

“Pun? What pu—oh,” Shiro bowed his head with a disappointed sigh.

Keith dropped his face to his palm and grinned. “Sorry, but I might as well inoculate you against it from now. You’re fast becoming Lance’s favourite and he throws out sexual innuendos like they’re going out of style.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Keith’s smile fell slowly then. “Hey. About yesterday…”

Shiro tried not to look too interested.

“Your friend, the little one. Pidge. She doesn’t like us, does she.”

That was not the thread of thought Shiro was anticipating. He looked up awkwardly. “She…she’s wary. She’s been through a lot.”

“Hm. That’s good.”

He was surprised. “Why?”

“It’s good that she’s skeptical about us. That’ll help you stay impartial too. It’s better that you have options of companionship, y’know? And when you ultimately come to a decision if you want to stay or go…”

“I…I think I want to stay.”

Keith watched him coolly. “You don’t have a debt to repay to us.”

“I know.”

“Now that you’ve found your friends there’s nothing stopping you from living with them instead.”

“I know. But you and Lance are growing on me.”

Keith’s eyes widened, “Don’t let Lance hear you say that. He’ll adopt you on the spot.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“No it’s nice…if you like being showered with more expensive gifts than you know what to do with.”

“You sound a little bitter.”

“Just a little.”

Shiro laughed.

A woman approached their table. She had the air of a manager and the strength of an ox. She seemed displeased. Keith’s good mood slipped off his skin in an instant. Shiro smelled trouble.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning.” Her blue eyes flickered to Shiro and back. “Alpha aren’t comfortable here.”

Ice flooded Shiro’s veins. To his horror, Keith did not move.

“I’m not sure I understand. Shiro looks plenty comfortable.”

“I’ll say it a different way then. Slaves aren’t comfortable here. They’d be more comfortable ordering round back. The quality of people who come here tend to take things the wrong way fast. I don’t want any cause for trouble.”

“You’d rather throw us out into the rain just so that people don’t think you’re serving food to two paying customers?”

“This isn’t a debate, Marmora.”

Shiro clasped Keith’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll go.” He stood.

The woman hadn’t taken her eyes off Keith, who remained seated. Shiro physically cajoled him into standing. To his surprise and relief Keith didn’t fight back. He kept staring at the woman even as they stepped into the rain. The cold roused him.

“Fucking bigoted narrow-sighted uptight purist bitch.” He shook his hair looking like a mad dog. He grunted. “Damn it. _Damn it.”_

When he was finished, because they were still in the middle of the street in the middle of the rain, his hair was _still_ wet and hung off his chin and cheeks and shoulders like lackluster tar.

Shiro slapped his hand over his mouth.

Keith’s keen eyes narrowed. “What.”

Shiro hiccupped. Shiro _laughed_. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. “Y—! Youu-u-u loohok like…! Like…!” He coughed and caught his breath and wheezed and laughter bubbled up again as he tried and failed to articulate himself.

Keith shoved at him and Shiro stumbled in surprise. Keith was grinning ear to ear too.

Then he jumped into a puddle and soaked them both.

-

Lance fell in love with Keith when he got his first big job as a translator.

“They told me that you speak the old languages,” the stranger had said, willfully disturbing his lunch date. Lance was annoyed but he was curious by the accent: provincial Arrussia, if he had to guess. He remembered there were ruins discovered in that area five years ago. “Can you read this?”

“Testing my proficiency within five minutes of knowing me?” Lance scoffed. He took the photograph anyway. “Sorry, babe. Duty calls.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s fine.” His eyes were wide with interest and his lips red with sauce. With a grin Lance brushed it away with his thumb. Keith mumbled in displeasure. Lance popped his thumb in his mouth. Just as quickly he returned the picture to the stranger.

“You didn’t even look—”

“It’s a common phrase: _in the names of those who came before._ It’s a memorial. People from the old world began carving their legacy in stone because they believed that stone would be the only thing to survive the calamity. On those memorials they describe their great cities, technological achievements and the names of the foremost saints.” He smiled dismissively. “Are you satisfied? Good, I’ll bill you later.”

He returned to Keith, but Keith was still staring at the interloper who had yet to move. Lance smiled stiffly for a minute, waiting.

“Lord de Leone.”

He stifled a sigh.

“I was told that you were proficient but you’ve demonstrated a skill above and beyond what I was expecting.”

“Yes, yes yes, I’m amazing, we been knew.”

“I have a job for you.”

“I have a meal waiting for me. Get in line.”

“We pulled out scores of documents from the old world but can’t make heads or tails of it. We think it’s a new old language altogether unlike anything discovered prior.”

Lance stopped interrupting. His fork broke the spine on his lettuce with repetitious little crunch crunch crunches. Keith chuckled at the lengths the stranger was going to ignore Lance’s subtle _fuck off._

“When we started looking for linguists more than a couple referred to you. They said you already know two languages of the old world, and that if there’s anyone with the skill to figure out this language it would be you.”

Keith looked at Lance. Lance, not one to deny his boyfriend a good show, outstretched his hand. “I figure you have a sample of this _new_ language?”

The stranger untucked it from his other pocket. The photograph was good and the sample was not blurred, but he squinted anyway. The characters were completely unlike any he’d read before.

“Some argue that it’s just decorative pictures, no rhyme or reason about them.”

“No, there’s an obvious structure,” Lance narrowed his eyes. He straightened, meal forgotten, now invested. He rubbed his free fingers together in a consoling fidget.

“Are you interested in the job, Lord de Leone?”

Lance smacked the picture down before he was sucked in anymore. “How did you find me anyway?”

“I was told not to tell you.”

Lance sucked his teeth. “It was Ryan wasn’t it.”

“I was told not to tell you.”

“Fucking Ryan.”

Keith hid his grin.

“I’m not cheap.”

She lit up. “You’ll do it?”

“Tell me where to meet you and when so we can discuss the work in detail.”

“Shall my people tell your people?”

Lance sneered. “Don’t be cute.”

The stranger bobbed their head with a barely disguised smile and vanished.

Keith nudged Lance’s ankle.

“What.”

“You’re playing it so cool but you can’t wait to get started.”

“Shut up, Keith.”

Keith laughed.

“You’ll follow me to that meeting, right?”

“As you say, Lord de Leone.”

Lance kicked Keith’s ankle. Keith threw lettuce at him.

Two days later Keith accompanied Lance to the national archives. A chest of treasures and a multitude of pictures of the excavation site were on a pretty and organized display upon his arrival. Keith’s eyes widened a little. Lance was undaunted.

He negotiated his price fluidly, his employers wrapped around his furtively stimming fingers all the while. A contract was drafted and sent off to be formalized. Lance made a point not to look at any of the artefacts while they waiting for its return over tea.

The stranger who had summoned him was a conniving woman named Olia. Lance had assumed she was an assistant to the lead archeologist or perhaps a foreman. She’d been dressed in trousers and boots to meet Lance and he realized that now that was part of roping him in while seeing what he was like for herself.

They both wore secret smiles, aware of the game she played.

“You’re younger than I thought you would be, Lord de Leone.”

Lance grinned wide, fangs bared, mildly slighted. Keith pressed a hand to his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“In that case, likewise.”

Keith saw her smile stiffen a little.

Later he would ask Lance, bowed over a drawing table with a microscope in hand, why he was working for a woman he didn’t like. Lance didn’t even look up. His voice was distracted, “What do you mean?”

Keith pulled a headband over his forehead and pulled his bangs out of his eyes.

“Ah. Thanks, babe.”

“I mean you two were basically at each other’s throats. You don’t like each other.”

“Yorakeith, if I didn’t conduct business with anyone who didn’t suit my fancy I would be penniless and lonely.”

“You’d still have me.”

Lance smiled down at his work, the most unguarded he looked in the past few hours. Keith, whose sharp eyes didn’t miss it, blushed and felt his chest throb and went to clean something.

Lance decided to work from a neutral space. That way Olia’s men wouldn’t barge into their home and face dozens of glaring eyes and instead just be warded off by Keith. It was convenient to work near the library as well.

Keith had become his errand boy in the weeks Lance poured zealously over his new project. Lance forgot to tell him to go home, to go sleep, to go rest, often because he forgot to do the same himself. It was easy if hard work looking after Lance. He was silent and worked steadily and predictably for hours at a time, rousing only to use the bathroom.

Other times Lance broke out of his reverie to listen to Keith hum the last few lines of a wraithlike song. That was when his concentration broke and he turned in.

Under the covers Lance would yawn, “You can go home, y’know.”

“I’d be worried sick over whether or not you’re eating properly.”

“Rude. I eat.”

“What did you eat today?”

Lance took too long to reply.

“Just go to sleep.”

And the next day Keith quietly worked at clearing the clutter, prepared their food, or sweeping the doorway of freshly fallen leaves.

One afternoon Lance took the last sip of his cold coffee and replied, “ _Yeutch!”_

He was so startled to have his equilibrium disrupted that the euphoria of dismantling the language in his grasp was swept away. He looked up from his workstation and found it perilously immaculate. The photographs were carefully labeled and organized on a distant table. The books he referenced were littered with pretty ribbons for bookmarks in a semi-circle on the floor. The papers with his scribbles were numbered and annotated and filed in a folder.

He blinked about the room. It was _tidy._

The cold cup of coffee and two rolled up scraps of paper were horrendously out of place. He stood and realized that it was for the first time in hours because his thighs tingled, his shins protested, and he couldn’t immediately straighten his back. He rounded his inclined table with a hunch and there he discovered his foil.

Wrapped up upon himself in the thin linen garb of a man who worked for a living was Keith, curled in a patch of sunlight beneath the window. His exposed shoulder rose and fell.

Lance kneeled beside him and stroked his hair. He could see Keith’s lashes flickering and smiled despite himself. “Hi, baby. What are you dreaming of?”

His fingers fell to the rough skin of Keith’s shoulder right on the perfect swell of his trapezius. Keith exhaled and Lance rubbed it tenderly. It was slightly enflamed. Someone unfamiliar with his body wouldn’t have noticed. Lance licked his fingers and the _essence_ of Keith flooded his palette.

 _“Mmm…”_ Lance bowed over him. Air motes glittered in the air between them and little curled up Keith stayed unaware. Lance kissed his temple, his ear, his shoulder, and his scent gland. He focused on sucking the spot beside it, wary of overstimulating Keith in his sleep.

Keith shuffled with a groan. He stretched his legs out and turned a little on his back. Lance waited for him to come to.

“…you okay?” he squinted.

“Yeah.” He brushed drool from the corner of his mouth. “You okay? You’re sleeping on a rug on the floor.”

“Mf.” He lay on his side.

Giggling, “Babe?”

Keith pulled him against his chest.

“ _Ooh!”_

“Stay.”

Lance daren’t complain. Pinned against Keith’s hard body by heavy arms and an intoxicating scent were the seductive entrapments of home. His heartbeat thrummed in his ear and his breathing beneath his fingers. Lance sighed, and his nose and lips brushed against his chest hair. He licked his skin. Keith hummed.

Lance dragged his hand down from Keith’s ribs to his groin. When his legs sleepily shifted apart, he wormed his hands through the knot and past the band of his pants and underwear. Keith inhaled, knees twitching apart further still. He crushed Lance against him a little more. Lance didn’t complain.

Keith’s cock was completely sheathed. Lance rolled his fingers along the slit that hid them, puffy from pre-heat. He worked his middle finger in a sensual and familiar back and forth adding extra pressure against where the tip of Keith’s cock began to poke out.

Keith shifted once more. He planted the sole of one foot flat on the ground and completely extended the other leg. “Yes,” he whimpered. Lance licked his chest again in reply.

He began clawing at Lance’s shoulder rhythmically. His toes flexed. His black eyebrows squeezed together a little more as Lance slowed his pace but increased his pressure, now adding circular movements around the tip of his cock or shallowly thrusting in the hole just beneath it.

He whined and yelped when his cock sprung free entirely. He groaned in embarrassment and Lance sat up as much as he was allowed and kissed his chin. He sucked on his neck. His hands squeezed the base of Keith’s cock and pulled up—he dragged Keith’s hips with it.

Keith whined.

Lance branded Keith’s throat in a necklace of purple.

“Lance…!”

Lance pulled out of Keith’s embrace then. He ignored his pout and hurt eyes. He scrambled between Keith’s legs instead and wormed his trousers down just enough to tongue Keith’s erection.

Keith clawed the floor. “It’s hot! And… _tight.”_

 _Tight?_ Lance frowned. Keith’s cock curled such that it breached his throat easily like it was aiming for it. It was easy to swallow, no, it was a pleasure to swallow, and he did while his hands stayed on Keith’s thighs and his middle fingers circled his pelvic bones.

He got lost in it a little. Keith drifted away from his mind as he zeroed in, without meaning to, only on the sensation of something slippery and slimy and gross and satisfying to his stupid lizard brain nursed between his teeth and on the bed of his tongue. So aimless was his love that the first egg startled him.

He swallowed.

Keith was looking at him wide eyed and hand over his mouth.

“What…”

“Did you just _swallow?”_

“What was that!” Lance grabbed his throat but the deed was done. Lance was swallowed the first of Keith’s first clutch.

Keith laughed at him.

“Dude! Not funny! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Keith’s laughing petered out to a weak moan. He scratched the floor again. “Oh—”

“Wait, there’s more?”

Keith grabbed himself and fucked into his fist. He sounded like a rutting animal hoarse and heedless. Lance smacked his hand away.

Keith reared up with teeth bared.

Lance grabbed his shoulders and thrust him down, his own teeth sharp. His growl was deep and Keith recoiled beneath the vibrations. His body yielded before he was of half a mind to.

Lance rocked his body against Keith’s, straddling him properly. Keith put up absolutely no resistance. He stayed where Lance placed him, and whimpered once they were joined.

Between his skirts he could see nothing. Lance’s thighs shook. He held them fast to his body and murmured a warning. Lance rocked his hips in a circular motion and Keith whined and felt the rest of the clutch go.

Because they were vastly unprepared and Lance’s body utterly uninterested in receiving eggs, nearly all of them spilled between them when they were apart. Lance seemed more horrified than Keith, who wondered at the mess in his lap.

“So that’s what they look like.”

Lance whimpered and held his belly.

“Are you alright? Does anything hurt?”

“They won’t fit!”

“You aren’t on heat where the dilation of your cervix—”

Lance glared.

“Right. You know how a heat works. Sorry.” He watched Lance pick up an egg. There were perhaps seven in total, the size of grapes or smaller, all ruddy yellow and eerily spongey.

“Should we bury them?”

“I don’t think they warrant that level of ceremony.” He took in Lance’s expression. “They’re unfertilized. They’re nothing to be sad over.”

_“I know.”_

“Then why are you crying?”

_“I’m not!”_

Keith tugged Lance into him.

“I think we should clean up first before post coital snuggle time.”

“I know you’re speaking and I can’t hear you.”

Lance leaned back, “I said—”

Keith yanked him against his chest. “I can’t hear you.”

“Keith—”

“Mm, your hair smells nice.”

Lance chuckled and thumped his chest. The rich timbre of his reciprocating laugher was Lance’s undoing: “Love you.”

Keith nibbled on his hair.

 _“Ew Keith!_ I take it back!”

“Huh? Take back what?”

“Nothing!”

“Huh??”

-

The Rizavi soirée was held on the grounds of the matriarch’s summer estate a three hours ride outside of Voltron. Its high whitewashed walls were guarded by a militia in red coats and its garden maze perfumed with the jungle’s stinkiest flowers. Floral arrangements reigned supreme within and without the galleries where the parties were hosted and if they were not real they were made of silk and gold.

Lance’s heels clicked on the tiles as he strut forward in his emerald pantsuit with a plunging neckline. His teardrop earrings glittered a green so rich it was black. Gold bands glimmered on his biceps. Acxa loomed beside and behind him in complementary red and gold. She was stunning enough that eyes glazed over her in a sea of delicately furnished strangers. As per the requirement of being an alpha in formal spaces, she was silent and docile.

Nadia came up to him. “Lanceria!” she kissed his cheek. “I’m _so_ glad you’re here.”

Lance took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You know I wouldn’t miss your great grandfather’s birthday party, baby. What’s up? Is company that boring?”

“Not especially, save for Cousin D’mitri. She’s come back from studying in Olkarion and apparently thinks that everyone who has an education is smart enough to keep up with her. Do _not_ let her wrangle you into another discussion of the fountain. Great-grandfather let her design his centerpiece and she has been self-promoting herself since; failing spectacularly because she doesn’t know how to talk to people. Poor thing.”

“Where is she so I know to _especially_ avoid her?”

She gestured vaguely. “She’s loitering in the east entrance of the gardens ready to ensnare her prey which is really a travesty because she’s scaring people away from the games ama set up in the maze.” Lance laughed behind his hand. She blinked at him politely. “Is your husband not with you tonight?”

Lance’s fangs lengthened. “Not tonight.”

“Boo. I was so looking forward to meeting the man who spirited away our most eligible bachelor before his debut. I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist.”

Lance laughed. His wedding band burned on his finger in his mind’s eye. “Anyone of import in attendance tonight?”

She pointed. “Rax, son of the viceroy of Balmera. He’s come with his sister in tow looking for a favorable match. Weren’t you looking for an alpha?”

“Hm. Who else?”

“James Griffin.”

“Hoping to smooth the path for his little brother?”

“Most likely. He _never_ attends parties. Too busy licking Commander Dos Santos’ boots. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen James’ face.”

“For better or worse?”

“You’re _evil,_ Lance,” but she twittered. They had taken a leisurely stroll around the room appraising the guests like sharks. “You know their plantations had a bad yield this year?”

“No way. Really?”

“Between the drought and the fungus that exploded during the heat waves…” she shook her head.

Something clicked behind Lance’s eyes. Acxa could see it. She looked up and wondered if he’d seen something. What connection had he made?

“I was told the Kinkades would be here tonight, is that true?”

“Ryan is.”

Lance stifled a sigh.

Nadia caught it. “I thought the two of you broke up amicably.” She grinned. “Do I sense lingering threads?”

“Ryan is a delight and a dearest friend.” _He’s also my fiercest competition._ He kissed her cheek. “I’ll take care of Cousin D’mitri. Thank you for getting me up to speed.” And as he kissed her forehead he slipped paper money between their clasped hands. Acxa would have missed it if she weren’t looking for it.

“You’ll be doing me a solid.”

He smiled and for the first time since he set foot on the property he was alone. He crossed the room with one eye on the group from Balmera.

The woman standing behind the viceroy’s son was wide and strong. Though she was prettied up, whoever did her seemed to make it their mission to hide her large breasts and arms and failed spectacularly. She looked awkward and clunky and something about how her head was bowed implied she knew it.

Other alpha in attendance imprinted on the beta or omega they accompanied no differently than how Acxa shadowed Lance. Some were guards and others breathing trophies: the Rizavi matriarch had his harem out in full force. All of them were fit and handsome and uniformed. A gaggle were escorting the birthday boy himself, practically holding him aloft as he trembled from guest to guest.

“You’d think the old man would have died of a heart attack by now.”

Acxa replied in quick strokes, “With the amount of alpha at his side he probably has a stronger heart than you give him credit for.”

Lance bit a crude laugh back behind his teeth. The Rizavi matriarch struck him as a man too deeply entrenched in his faith to toy with alpha but there were so many of them…he lifted a hand and a flute appeared beneath it courtesy of a servant, another alpha, smelling of a lingering—or, for the sake of the party, a synthetically induced—rut.

Ryan Kinkade stepped into his route.

Lance quirked a smile. “Hello, beautiful.”

Kinkade bowed his head. “Good evening, lovely.”

“Is this your way of asking for a dance?”

“Unlike some I’m forthright with my intentions and ask directly.”

Lance’s giggle was plastic. “You wound me.”

“Dance with me.”

“Of course. Acxa?” he held out his flute and she took it without further prompt. She watched steadily as he was swept away to the dancefloor.

“Impeccable footwork as always,” Lance charmed.

“Flattery won’t loosen these lips.”

“No, I know that.” Their eyes met for a heated moment. They spun, firmly embraced. Kinkade looked away first, mouth firm.

“Why are you here, Ryan?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“There are six other parties ongoing tonight. Any of those could have been your first mark.”

“Who says I’m not looking at my first mark?”

Lance’s eyes snapped to his. He didn’t retreat from Kinkade pressing their cheeks together. It brought them closer and the dance was instantly more sensual. Lance lost himself to his cultured moves just a little. He was a wonderful dancer and Lance was weak to musical bodies.

“Lanceria.”

He refused to shiver. “What.”

“Why didn’t you and I work out?”

Coyly, “Are you really asking me that?”

“We could have worked well together and taken the city by storm.”

“Yeah right. There was no guarantee that you wouldn’t have been bought out by the highest bidder.”

“And what, you weren’t?”

“I work for me.”

“You work for the princess.”

“She’s one of many patrons,” Lance hissed. “And if you badmouth her you’ll find everyone avoiding you next week on account of your raging genital warts.”

Kinkade chuckled. “You wouldn’t want to make an enemy out of me, Lanceria.”

Lance smiled. “Likewise.”

Kinkade pulled back and kissed the knuckles of Lance’s hand clasped in his. “Work with me tonight?”

Lance narrowed his eyes.

“I saw you since you walked in. I’m confident you put the pieces together by now.”

“You just want to use me to get to D’mitri.”

“You’re not wrong. No one can manipulate a dialogue like you.”

Lance’s heart went cold. “I don’t manipulate. I…I guide. I coerce.”

Kinkade popped a brow but didn’t harp on it. “The Kinkades are invested in the Griffin Bourbon Company. James will listen to me if I point him towards Rizavi for his little brother’s prospective suitor.”

“And the Griffins could invest in said prospective suitor and his irrigation company by letting him work on their properties and ensure a drought never hurts their yields again.”

Kinkade shivered and dropped Lance in a bow. “It’s like you read my mind.”

“I read the room, actually.” He glared. “I’m not cheap.”

“How’s two gold?”

“That’s cheap.”

“Two and a half gold?”

“Three gold and some information.”

Kinkade quirked an interested brow.

“Curtis acquired an alpha who hails from Terran last year, didn’t he?”

“He did…” it wasn’t uncommon knowledge, but there wasn’t enough controversy to gain traction among the courts regaled gossips. “Why?”

“Is he willing to sell?”

“You would have to ask him. And he’s a hermit, you would have to visit him on his property.”

“Can I get an invitation to visit him?”

Kinkade put on a dubious expression. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” And three coins were pressed into his palm. “Consider my work done.”

“Of course.” And they slipped apart at the end of the song as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

Acxa was waiting for him with two refreshed goblets and, with a slight of hand, relieved him of his money. Her fingers were sharp, “You and he look good together.”

He took a big gulp of wine.

Acxa took it back.

“Oh relax, I’m not a lightweight.”

“You’re not a pretty drunk either.”

“I just needed to take the edge off before I screamed to God.”

“What did God do?”

“Oh nothing, save for putting the husband of the man I’m trying to get to fuck _my_ husband in the hands of the brother of the man who was _almost_ my husband.”

Acxa looked at Lance. Acxa looked at her feet. She closed her eyes.

“Mm. Yeah. Me, that me. Mood.”

“Will this be a problem?”

“All goes well no. It’s just either very convenient or very suspicious.”

“Mm.” She silenced then, because they stepped outside and were within hearing distance of D’mitri and her latest prey. She made a gasp of protest when Lance snatched back his goblet.

He pressed a finger to his lips and sashayed away.

He sat on the edge of the fountain completely on the other side of D’mitri, who’d glimpsed him walk past. The couple he’d been engaging with unraveled themselves from his conversation in the time it took Lance to undo his shoes, sigh, drink more wine and ponder the stars.

D’mtri made the slow rounds to his side. “Good evening.”

“Hello,” Lance spoke softly and without the acuity he regularly possessed. “Nice night, huh?”

“Oh,” D’mitri regarded the night. “It’s alright I suppose. I could do without the mosquitoes.”

Lance giggled like a besotted if jaded schoolgirl. “I dunno. I think the fireflies are worth it.”

Acxa saw D’mitri’s eyes sharpen on the distant lights of bugs. _What power,_ she thought to herself, smacking a mosquito off her shoulder. She was too far away from the incense burners inside.

Lance kept the conversation going before D’mitri could segue into the fountain Lance had turned into his chaise lounge. “Are you avoiding everyone too?”

“Avoiding, no, I—actually—”

Lance pat the cold tile beside him. “Sit,” he smiled, eyes round and inviting. “You’re kinda tense, my dude. Take off your shoes and knock one back.” He signaled Acxa.

She melted out of the shadows, startling D’mitri, offering the other full goblet.

“O-oh. Thank you.”

“I thought I’d be able to drink both. Stupid right? I’m already buzzed after half.” He giggled for effect. “I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t know who to share it with.”

“Are you here alone?”

“Mhm.”

Acxa saw D’mitri’s eyes drift to Lance’s unmarked shoulders. “I’m surprised you’re not the life of the party.”

Lance snorted and descended into a giddy chortle. D’mitri reflexively smiled at his display. “Grand-daddy Rizavi is the life of the party! Have you seen him? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as vibrant as him!”

“Would you believe me if I told you he was like that all the time?”

“ _No._ He’s so brittle!”

D’mitri laughed. “He’s spry!”

“But—wait, how do you know that?”

“D’mitri Rizavi,” she produced her hand. “The matriarch is my grandfather.”

“Oh Ancients,” Lance’s hand flew to his mouth. In the process he knocked the goblet from his perch beside him and into the fountain. “Oh!”

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” she grasped his hands before he could reach in and try to recover the broken glass. “We wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.”

“But…oh _no._ It just…I just spoiled the water and—you! I’ve been so casual with you, I’m so sorry.”

Acxa saw D’mitri’s eyes light up. “It’s nothing it’s nothing,” she was quick to brush aside. She was smiling and engaged now. “I’m not one for all the hithers and thithers anyway. And the water will be refreshed in a few moments. It’s not an isolated system.”

“It’s not a what?”

D’mitri lit up. Familiar now with the ditzy persona Lance invented for her benefit, she walked through the steps of how her designs worked with patient thoroughness. Lance interrupting with questions extended their conversation for over an hour, and in that time six, eight, twelve couples meandered past them to get lost and make love in the maze garden.

Lance sat crossed legged, refreshed goblets between them courtesy of Acxa. D’mitri looked pleasantly flushed but Lance’s unsteadiness was perfectly staged.

“Salud?”

“Cheers!”

Their fourth pair of wine clinked.

“It’s really amazing that you have this technology available. Like…it feeds the vegetable garden and purifies any grey water or water from the latrine before they sink into the water tables. _That’s really cool._ You’d think the Griffins would be all over something like this.”

“The Griffins?” D’mitri hiccupped, “Why the Griffins?”

“Well, their corn crops didn’t do so good this year. Didn’t you know?”

She shook her head.

Lance looked over his shoulder before scooting over and D’mitri, enamored with her new young hungry-for-knowledge companion, humored him and leaned forward as he whispered: “Well, apparently—and you didn’t hear it from _me!”_

D’mitri giggled. “No, no. Of course not.”

Lance hummed and lay a sultry hot hand on her shoulder to lean closer. D’mitri’s blush wasn’t only from the alcohol now. “Well, apparently,” Lance breathed into her ear, she shivered, “Griffin’s corn didn’t do so good this year. Bad drought, y’know? At first I was like, what’s the big deal? I don’t even like corn.”

D’mitri chuckled. “Corn is what is used to make bourbon, darling. Bourbon is their entire trade.”

Lance clapped. “See, I didn’t even _know_ that. I just thought, like, bourbon was made of—” he stopped. “Y’know, I’m not gonna finish that sentence so you don’t think I’m stupider than I already am.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

Lance smiled widely, warmly. “Really?”

“Yes. You understood the very complex process I walked you through regarding my work.”

“Pfft, well, that’s because you _explained_ it so well! You know—and I’m totally talking out of my ass here—but I think you should go places with this thing. You could revolutionize shit. I dunno. Change the landscape of the city: water that would go to waste instead goes to people’s vegetable gardens, y’know?”

D’mitri chuckled. “That is the dream. Unfortunately not a lot of people seem interested in what I have to offer.”

Lance pouted. “Don’t say that. Depends on the people.”

“Yeah.”

“ _I’m_ interested.”

She smiled. “Yeah?”

“And y’know what—I bet the Griffins would be interested too.”

“Pfft. If only. It’s a pipe dream.”

Lance burst: “Pipe dream!”

“Wh-what?”

He choked on giggles, “Pipe dream! Irrigation! I get it I get it!”

D’mitri helplessly laughed along, caught up in Lance’s infectious laughter.

“Come, come come come,” he pushed his feet into his shoes and flapped his free hand. “Come on. You’re too good to keep to myself.”

“Oh, maybe you shouldn’t—”

Acxa came from her perch and kneeled before them, doing up Lance’s straps with an elegant flick of her wrists. A hand on Lance’s elbow and he was upright, if unsteady, begging D’mitri to lean on him.

“Perhaps you should sit down.”

“ _Later._ Come with me. Walk up! You’re too good to keep to myself. You have to meet someone.”

D’mitri let herself get dragged along. They avoided the warm press of bodies but nearly collided with Lance’s focal pair. A strong grip on his elbow from James Griffin steadied him.

“Lanceria,” he drawled. “What a pleasure.”

“Yikes, someone needs a turn in the sun. What has you so cold?”

“I—”

“Never mind, that’s not important.”

 _This bitch,_ James’ glare said.

“You simply _must_ talk to Dee. Absolutely darling. Light upon this plane. Engineer. Is the room spinning?”

Kinkade, who’d been sharing the corner with James, carefully peeled Lance from D’mitri’s side. “How much did you drink?”

“That would be my fault, I’m afraid,” D’mitri sighed. “While we were chatting I…”

“I know the story all too well. Please excuse me while I get him sobered up.”

“Wait wait, I haven’t finished introducing them!”

“You’re finished for the night, old friend.”

D’mitri turned bashfully to James, “I’m terribly sorry. What an awful first impression.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s _his._ ” He offered a professional, if distant, smile. “James Griffin.”

D’mitri straightened a little. She offered her hand. “D’mitri Rizavi.”

A knowing glint came to James’ eye.

Acxa nearly pumped the air from afar as she saw Rizavi and Griffin engage. Success! On and off she’d wondered how much of Lance’s performance was _performance_. She realized now the little prince was utterly too good at what he did. What a show!

Lance and Kinakde retired to a corner, Lance perfectly sober and giggling.

“Well done, Lance.”

“Likewise. Look at them go! You’d think they’d been friends for years!”

“I just hope James doesn’t bring up his personal armory.”

“I think D’mitri will be alright so long as she talks about her founta—oh! Oh, there they go!”

“You have her spot on, Lance.”

“What can I say?” he tilted his shoulders. “I am a miracle worker.”

Kinkade faced him with a profound expression. “That you are.”

Lance poked his shoulder affectionately.

“He wouldn’t…understand this, you know.”

“Mm? Who wouldn’t?”

“Your husband.”

Lance smiled dryly. “And what would you know about my husband?”

“I know he never comes to these parties to support you.”

“He doesn’t like parties.”

Kinkade eyed Lance’s naked shoulders critically. “He doesn’t like weddings either, apparently.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know that he makes you feel as if the work you do is wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re so used to reading other people it’s laughable that you don’t realize how transparent you are yourself.” He tucked an errant strand behind Lance’s ear. “It’s in everything that you do and do not say. He makes you feel ashamed of what you do.”

“Don’t talk like you know us.”

“I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. And I know you’re _brilliant._ Too brilliant for anyone to make you feel like you are less than what you are. You’re one of my dearest friends Lanceria and it hurts me that the man you love doesn’t understand you.”

“What marriage is without its hiccups? We’ll get through this.”

“ _Can you_ though? You’re from two totally different worlds. What you see as necessary he sees as frivolous, or worse, _dangerous_ —am I wrong?”

Lance lied to his face: “Yes.”

Kinkade saw right through him and softened in pity. Lance turned away from him, arms crossed, ashamed and vulnerable.

“I would never make you feel small.”

“You never do,” Lance admitted quietly. A little louder, “Ryan: you’re one of my dearest friends and I respect that you’re trying to look out for me. Had things been different I would love you in the way that you want me to. But things are not different, and I am happily married. I _am_ happy, whatever you may claim. I love you but I need you to be my friend. _Please_ be my friend.”

Kinkade sighed and then straightened slightly. “I am your friend, Lanceria.”

“Thank you.”

Kinkade held his hand and squeezed reassuringly. “Tell me something.”

“An eye for an eye, eh?”

“Did you think I told you about my brother for free?”

Lance laughed behind his smile. “What is it?”

“Didn’t you purchase the king’s Champion recently?”

“Yes.” Kinkade wasn’t asking. “Has word got around much?”

“Not very, considering. For all you parade him through the street very few have taken notice. It’s almost magic.”

“Takashi is a different man outside of the arena and well-dressed. No magic, just misdirection.”

“It’s an interesting statement you would be making if he sires your children.”

Lance stared ahead. “I didn’t buy him for prestige.”

“No?”

“No.”

“But still, consider: the child of one of the oldest most respected families in the Altean Empire, the heir to a mercenary guild manned entirely of a disenfranchised minority, and the King’s undefeated Champion.”

“You’re so crass, Ryan. My children aren’t political symbols.”

“Not _only_ , you mean.” Kinkade chuckled. “It’s clear what future you’re shooting for. I fear for whoever stands in your way.”

Lance smiled, eyes downturned. “Thank you.”

“Will I be seeing you at any of the other venues tonight?”

“No, I’ll be avoiding you.”

“So cruel. Then,” and he tilted Lance’s face up with his forefinger and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “This is goodbye for now. Thank you for the dance.”

“You’re welcome,” Lance winked. “Now get lost before my husband’s sister throttles you.”

Kinkade turned and jumped at the pretty alpha leaning against a pillar glaring at him. With a muted “good evening” that received no reply, he vanished into the direction of the party.

Acxa approached Lance. “I think I understand enough about how you work to call that kiss platonic, yes?”

“It can be, yes.”

“Is that how Lord Kinkade intended it?”

Lance didn’t answer.

Acxa softened. “Would you like to go home?”

“Yes, please.” He leaned on her shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

“Yes, well, you haven’t slept properly for the past week. You’re crashing.”

“I need to stop by the library.”

“Shouldn’t you rest first?”

“If I rest I won’t come back to this task for another two weeks. I need to do it now.”

“Let’s go to the carriage, little prince.”

“Carry me?”

“I would love to but it might be unsightly.”

“Acxa, I’m wearing _pants._ ”

“Point taken.” And she lifted him into her arms.

-

Shiro was sucking out the guts of a guava when Keith chanced upon him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing up? It’s practically midnight.”

“No sleep,” Shiro signed with a grin. “You?”

“Anxious, I guess. Stir crazy.”

“Why?”

“Kolivan suspended me from duty until Lance is pregnant.”

Shiro looked down at the table feeling embarrassed and responsible.

“It’s nothing to do with you. Baa’s just poking his nose into business that doesn’t concern him. I feel like eating leftovers, you want some leftovers?”

“Yes please.”

“Look at you having whole conversations with your mouth full. You have good memory.”

“Thank you.” Shiro laughed, “That’s literally all I know.”

“Still.” Keith lit another lamp and laid out food for reheating.

Shiro watched him work. He had his hair down again and it was a chaotic nest. Light flickered over his muscles and played with his eyes. His strength was quiet. His passion was quiet. He remembered his outburst in the library.

“Drinks?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Fruit juice? Milk?”

“Milk.”

“You want to finish our game?”

Shiro groaned and Keith laughed. Shiro rinsed his hand clean, one eye on his companion.

He was good with his hands. He was a man of action and truth. He said suddenly, “I can feel you staring at me.”

Shiro startled internally.

Keith looked at him. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He smiled and leaned against the counter. His eyes flickered to Keith’s throat. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Keith reflexively touched his ring there. “No.”

Shiro asked, “Is it okay to touch you?”

A little bit honored, Keith didn’t recognize he went hoarse. “Touch me how?”

Shiro gingerly shuffled forward. Keith’s eyes stayed on him and his body aimed towards him. He couldn’t help swallow at the blunt fingers rubbing his neck. He was cold. There was no pressure to the hand that cupped his neck. His thumb grate against the base of his jaw. Shiro’s forefinger smoothed the hair at his nape.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes.”

“Is it okay if I make a habit of this?”

Keith was surprised Shiro was interested. “Yes.”

“It sounds like you have a question for me.”

“I thought you didn’t like being touched.”

“Sometimes,” Shiro admitted. Keith felt his fingers savoring the texture of hair and skin and he felt skittish and weak. “Sometimes touch feels weird to me.”

“When was the last time you got a hug?”

Shiro giggled voicelessly. “Is that an invitation?”

With a lopsided smile Keith opened his arms. He gathered a laughing Shiro into them. Tall as he was Shiro braced his cheek against Keith’s hair. His arm looped around his shoulders and his thumb snagged on a scar he didn’t know sat there. “Sorry.”

Keith shook his head.

Shiro’s fingers lingered on the skin just beside the healed shoulder injury. When he started to feel a little awkward he tapped Keith’s back.

Keith drew back, grin teasing. “That’s enough for one day?”

Shiro blushed.

“It’s alright.” He pat Shiro’s chest. “It probably doesn’t mean much coming from me but I’m proud of you. But don’t push yourself, alright? We have time.”

Shiro nodded. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He noticed Shiro’s eyes lingering on his lips and he turned away quickly. “Let’s eat before this gets cold, huh?”

“Can I try again?”

“Already?” he laughed. He wondered if his nerves showed.

“Yes.”

He turned to him slowly. “Another hug?”

“Um. Well. Not exactly.”

Keith’s fingers played on his ring.

“Can I, um.”

“Kiss me?”

Shiro nodded.

Keith nodded. He walked into Shiro’s waiting hand. They leaned together tepidly as though checking for a hint of hesitation. When their lips brushed it was all too soon and they both flinched.

Shiro whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he held Shiro’s wrist. “It’s okay if you aren’t ready.”

Shiro nodded, smiled, and drew back. He could smell Keith’s subtle disappointment but Keith was nothing but reassuring. Then he spoke as though they didn’t just exchange a tender moment: “So can we eat now or what?”

Shiro laughed.

On a fresh gust of wind the strong perfume of rain washed over them. The hinges seemed to be suffering the deluge too: there was a faint smell of rust on the air. “And here I thought the storm was over. I suppose it’s for the best considering how hot its been.”

Keith set their mugs on the table.

“Thank you.”

Keith nodded and stood. An oil lamp sat between them and their scarce meals. Keith pulled the board closer, a cunning look in his eye.

Shiro laughed. “You’re so eager to take advantage of me. I’m no good at Othello.”

“You’ll get better the more you play. It’s for the best too. Lance loves Othello.”

“Speaking of, I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

“He’s been working. He’s probably at some party. Or back at the library. Those are the only places Acxa reported visiting.”

“In _this_ weather? _This_ late?”

“The library is open all hours.” _Especially to the world’s most connected socialite._

Shiro moved several pieces on the board with a pensive frown.

“What is it?”

“I just…I don’t think it’s healthy. How he throws himself into work like that? He’s gonna burn out.” He backtracked, “N-not that it’s my place to say…it’s just…I’ve seen it before. My husband, he was like that. _Is_ like that.”

Keith shook his head. His fluffy hair had a life all its own. “I know what you mean. If it’s any consolation he isn’t always like this. This week is just his high mood.”

“His what?”

“Sometimes he works really really hard and really really fast for several days, and sometimes he does nothing for weeks. It’s just how he works.” He watched Shiro think his next move. “You’re not convinced.”

“He’s working hard for my benefit. It makes me feel…”

“Useless?”

He looked up sharply.

Keith smiled and moved a piece.

Shiro grunted.

“You realize you’re playing as white, right?”

“I _know that.”_

Keith smiled a little wider.

“Y’know you could go easy on me.”

“Absolutely not. And I know how you feel. Lance likes to take care of people. He’s taken care of me and my family for years. It makes me feel redundant but also scared. Like, my wellbeing is dependent on his mood. There’s nothing stopping him from throwing us into the street again.”

“But he _wouldn’t_ do that,” Shiro said with a frown.

“Of course not. It’s just that the possibility is there. The complex belongs to him _and_ me, did you know that? Since he married me it’s technically his property too.”

“You never did prenuptials?”

“Pre-what?”

“Documentation that says more or less _what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours._ ”

“If such a thing exists in this city I wasn’t made aware of it.” He put down a piece a little too hard. “Big surprise.”

Shiro twiddled his fingers. “I have…a borderline rude question.”

Keith grinned and his savage teeth were on display. “Let’s hear it?”

“Do you, sometimes, resent Lance?”

Keith looked down. He breathed. He didn’t immediately answer. “Your turn.”

“What? Oh. Right. Fuck, I’m losing aren’t I.”

“I…resent the power that Lance has over me. It’s something that he can’t help and I can’t fault him for it. But this city is built so that omega have power from birth. Lance has done a lot of good with it but he can’t… _understand_ things from my perspective sometimes. Like: if he knew that we were kicked out of that restaurant he’d go down there and buy the restaurant. Me? My options are either never eat there again or start a brawl. Nothing short of a revolution will improve my lot. And he doesn’t understand my frustration and powerlessness. He says, _I can do that for you_ and I get even madder.”

Shiro watched him measuredly.

“I don’t know if you get it. You were raised in a place where omega aren’t at the top of the food chain.”

“I…understand.” He nodded slowly, then a little firmer, “My life lately has been orchestrated by omega.”

Keith gasped sharply, “Shit, Shiro, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s alright. We have different experiences but I think I get it.” He drank. “Lance can change the world.”

“He _is_ changing the world. He’s making waves no one else can and I’m proud of him. I am. But I’m lost in those waves. I have to stand behind him to be protected. And that frustrates me to no end because I don’t want to be his bashful bride or damsel in distress, I want to be his equal.” He put down another piece.

“Fuck.”

Keith sighed, “Sometimes I wonder if Lance sees me as his equal or just…I dunno. Just his cute spouse with scary teeth.”

Shiro’s eyes flickered up to him. “Yeah it’s true. You do have scary teeth.”

In revenge, Keith stole food off Shiro’s plate. Shiro’s betrayed expression mollified him.

“Does any of this have to do with the argument you had?”

Keith blushed. He hissed, “Saw that, huh?”

“It was a little hard to miss.”

“I didn’t like him taking advantage of you.”

“Of _me?_ How?”

Keith blushed harder.

Shiro straightened. “You’re scaring me.”

“No! No, it’s not,” he scratched at his hair wildly. “It’s Ancients…when—FUCK.”

Shiro’s nose twitched. “Take your time.”

He blew out a sigh. “You know what Lance does for a living?”

“He’s an informant and socialite.” Shiro blinked. “He deals with information.”

“He plays a delicate game of tug and war with people who are paying him to say certain things and paying him to _not_ say certain things. He can control a room with the right words. He reads people and their implications and uses it for _his_ end goal.”

“Oh.”

“His day job where he gets consistent income is working as a translator and escorting dignitaries or ambassadors, right? But going to parties is where he either misses or hits big. That’s where he meets the sons of viceroys and the daughters of chancellors and the nephews of bank owners…that’s where he implants ideas in their heads.”

_“Oh.”_

“And he did that to you.”

“What?” Shiro jerked in his seat. “When?”

“When he carried you to that store that he knew was owned by Terran people.”

“But…but you said that was a fluke. You didn’t know that—” Shiro abruptly frowned. “But how would Lance know that I knew the people who were there?”

“I don’t know if he did but if he did I wouldn’t be surprised.” He moved another piece on the board between them. “That’s his _job.”_

Shiro frowned.

“Disturbing right? And when I called him out on it he didn’t understand why I was mad.”

“…why,” Shiro spoke softly and hesitantly, “why _were_ you mad?”

Keith looked up at him sharply. “Because he claimed that he wanted to be your friend. You don’t toy with your friends’ feelings.”

“He reunited me with friends, how is that…?”

“He wanted you to associate the good feeling of meeting your friends with me staying by your side. Your turn. And I was mad because that’s _not_ how I want our friendship to start. I want our friendship to start because you _like_ us. Because you _trust_ us. And that’s not going to happen overnight! Lance is just so fucking impatient to get knocked up he doesn’t care if he takes advantage of us in the process!”

_Bang!_

Shiro jumped and Keith turned. Lance stood in the doorway absolutely ravishing and absolutely pissed. His painted lips were in a grimace and his rheumy eyes were hot and bored into his husband. His two fists shook, one on the door where he hit it. Keith stood.

_“Sit down.”_

Keith sat.

Lance’s chest hiccupped in a way that was clear he was going to cry. Anger won out for now. He spoke with quiet vitriol: “You could have just told me, Keith.”

“That…wasn’t for you to hear.”

“Of course it wasn’t. People never want to tell people what you truly think of them to their face.”

“That’s not—”

Lance’s sharp _clack_ of heels as he walked into the kitchen shut him up. He turned to Shiro abruptly, jewelry clanking. “I found Adam and Colleen.” He tossed a book on the table open to the documentation of the alpha in question, their whereabouts and current owners. “So now that you know I’m a baby-crazed manipulative power-drunk tyrant you can leave whenever you want. Go to Kolivan about your severance package.” To Keith: “I’m going home.”

Keith kept his lips pressed together. There was nothing more he wanted to do than have Lance shout and scream at him. But Lance was cool and didn’t let anything out more than his palpable gaze.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“Please stay.”

“No.”

“Then take Acxa.”

He scoffed.

Lance left. Thunder banged. Shiro stared incredulously between the book, the doorway, and the board game scattered on the red tiled floor.


	6. At Best and At Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like a quarter of the length of the entire fic. I'm going to sleep now.
> 
> (Pardon any errors. I will get to them eventually.)

“You look like shit.”

“Lovely to know I can always rely on you for your candor.” Lance pressed the cold rag to his eyes and sighed.

The training yard had been privy to the sound of his practice since morning. After a cursory jog and stretch the _thwak thwak thwak_ of his flawless aim had accompanied guards and guards-in-training who didn’t get to see the littlest de Leone practice often. With the rising sun he’d stripped out of his shirt and vest. Rachel had pointed out the traffic of this section of their villa had increased.

“Doesn’t help you smell virgin,” and she poked just beside the turgid flesh of his unmarked unstimulated gland cresting his trapezius. Grandly irritated, he swung his bow at her. She ducked and it clapped her in the shoulder.

“ _Hey!_ Uncalled for!”

“I love you but get lost.”

That changed her mood to something kinder. “Who pissed in your morning coffee?”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

She rolled her eyes. “Literal as always.”

He glared.

She put her hands up. “Going, going…”

He sighed and tossed the towel and waited on the teenager who rushed forward to pull the arrows free from their marks. “I’ll be just a second, m’lord!”

He waved before he remembered that no-one on this compound knew sign. “Take your time,” he said belatedly. “Your name’s Ricardo, right?”

Ricardo paused, a little surprised. “Yes, sir.”

“Mm. You like cake? Tell the cook you get a cake today on my behalf. Any cake you want.”

Ricardo smiled in a way shy of outright laughter. “Cake?”

A little waspishly, “What, you don’t like cake?”

Ricardo barely disguised his grin. “I like cake, sir.”

“Good. Then you can get fat off a cake of your choice later.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

A good natured chuckle sounded from behind him. “Really Lanceria? Cake of all things?”

Lance’s tension left him in one fell swoop. _“Dad.”_ He put his bow aside and rushed into his embrace.

“Hi baby,” his father squeezed him tight. Tall and thin, warm and soft, gawky and grey, that was the de Leone sire. Lance and Rachel inherited his curly brown hair and Veronica his long limbs. He was not wide, he was not strong, and he dressed more like a scholar than an alpha in pretty robes and flouncing skirts. He _was_ a scholar.

“Mf.” Lance scented him and his shirt. “Moms sent you didn’t they.”

“Uh-huh. They sent me on a recon mission. I’m to find out why you came in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, bawling your eyes out the minute the doors were closed and after you’d asked for a bottle of wine. I brought you pain medication for your hangover.”

“Thanks, but,” he dressed back, “I didn’t drink it. I just went straight to bed.”

“You didn’t go straight to bed without bathing, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. And I’m fine, no stuffiness or colds.”

“Huh. Appease me and drink cold medication anyway?”

 _“Dad._ You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you. I don’t trust the rain. Slippery little thing. Doesn’t listen to people.”

Lance smirked unenthusiastically.

“Ricardo: be a dear and fetch cold medicine from Smythe, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, will you tell me what happened or should I leave your mothers to interrogate you?”

“They’re going to interrogate me anyway.”

“True.” He started pulling Lance’s shirt on.

_“Dad.”_

“I’m not fond of how the pages are looking at you.”

“The pages are like, _twelve.”_

“Shush.”

Lance let himself be dressed. His father was slowly doing up the buttons before he admitted with difficulty: “I’m having an argument with Keith.”

His father had the courtesy of hiding his surprise. “What about?”

“He…he says that I’m manipulative.” He frowned. “But he didn’t say it to my _face._ He said it to our alpha and—”

“Alpha?” More than docile patience showed on his face now. “You never mentioned you had an alpha, Lanceria.”

Lance shrugged off the guilt that came from a parent's disappointed tone, “Didn’t warrant mentioning.”

“Are you trying for a baby?” And at Lance’s nod, “So early?”

Lance sent him a look.

“O-of course I can’t _stop_ you but baby you’re so _young._ You have time. And you haven’t been married to Yorakeith for very long.”

“We’ve known one another three years.”

“I knew your mothers for ten years before we married, and we were married another six before having our first son. A family isn’t something you rush into. It’s something that takes time and planning.”

“I’m not like you guys,” Lance pulled out of the hands that were fixing his collar. “I know what I want. And I know that I have to do it _now_ before…before…”

His father gasped softly. “You’re worried you might have the same challenge as your sisters.”

Lance frowned.

“But is that enough to rush into a new lifelong obligation?”

“I’m not rushing. And that’s not what we argued about.”

“Right. You said he said you were manipulative.”

“And he said it _behind my back_. He didn’t know I heard him until I confronted him and,” he picked up the bow and began unstringing it and running his fingers over its pretty engravings, “what hurts is that I didn’t know he’d ever talk about me behind my back. We talk about everything together.”

“Maybe that’s precisely why he went to this alpha. Because he’s always talking with you but perhaps he needs a new perspective.”

“Behind my back??”

“You can’t expect you and your husband will talk about _everything_ together with each other _all_ the time _only_. That’s intellectual incest at best, boredom at worst.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I never meant to curate Keith’s relationships.”

“That’s not what you’re doing now?”

“You didn’t hear what he said about me. He felt _strongly_ about this. And he _never_ mentioned it to me.”

Lance’s father said nothing.

“I don’t think our marriage is under threat but it feels like others expect us to break up. It’s in the things they say or don’t say. It’s oppressing.” He managed: “And Ryan…”

His father looked guarded. “Whenever you mention the Kinkade heir I get worried.”

“That’s the best response.”

“What had he said?”

Lance performed, “He said it breaks his heart that I’m in love with a man who doesn’t understand me. That we’re from two different worlds and our relationship is innately flawed thanks to it.”

“And Yorakeith called _you_ manipulative?”

“ _Right??”_ He scoffed. “Keith wasn’t there though. His sister was but when she relays reports she leaves out the flowery language so the impact is lost. Keith doesn’t come with me to galas and parties anymore.”

He said that with bitterness.

His father asked, “Have you ever asked Yorakeith why?”

Lance didn’t answer.

“There’s something funny about the fact that Acxa—it is Acxa, right?—yes, Acxa accompanies you to many of these events and, as a result, sees you work more often than Yorakeith does. I would bet money that because of it _she_ does not think you manipulative.”

Lance didn’t answer.

“I think there is a grain of truth in Kinkade’s words.”

_“What?”_

“Hear me out.”

Lance settled.

“You and Yorakeith are from different worlds. You’re from different backgrounds, different ways of interacting with the world. In addition, by virtue of him being beta and Marmora and you being old money and omega you both have different ways of how the world interacts with _you._ The two of you will be exposed to the same stimuli and react wildly differently. A relationship requires conscious back and forth in the best of times. For you and Yorakeith that includes covering a foundation that is common sense to people like me, who is used to the schools of thought you butt against each time you attend those parties.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying Keith and I don’t talk enough?”

“I’m saying you and Yorakeith are not talking about the _right topics_ frequently enough and long enough for mutual understanding to develop. To me it seems like, for all you say you and your husband love one another and dialogue extensively—which I don’t doubt—it sounds like the two of you are very lonely.”

“Lonely?”

He nodded. “Lonely.”

“I’m not lonely, I’m surrounded by his family twenty-four seven—”

“That’s not what being lonely means, Lanceria. You can feel alone in a sea of people. But who in that sea understands you? Who in that sea takes the time out to learn you?”

Ricardo took that moment to return with cold medicine and a glass of water.

“Thanks, pup,” Lance’s father rubbed Ricardo’s cheek a little. He seemed to miss entirely his blush and stutter as he departed.

Lance offhandedly commented, “I think I inherited my sex appeal from you.”

His father looked at him blank-faced and wide-eyed. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Not your obliviousness though.”

“What?”

-

Acxa found her brother on the roof. He was practicing his form. He was shifting into basic movements one after the other and moving slowly. Sweat dripped from his hair and chin. He’d been at it for a while but didn’t tremble and made each crouch and evade and block look effortless.

Acxa came up to him and waited until he wanted to look to her before clasping her hands and bowing slightly. He nodded and dressed back. She moved, then he moved, and then they were dancing and playing and fighting and Acxa tripped him and won.

He slapped the ground.

“Temper, Yorakeith.”

He flipped to his feet. “Again.”

“Not until you are calm.”

“Will you just kick my ass already?”

She looked unimpressed but abided. Gone were the smooth movements that betrayed the control they had over their bodies. What they did now was a mastery of momentum and reaction. They read one another without aiming to harm, just aiming to redirect their opponent and put them where they wanted to put them. The game came to a close when Acxa’s toes tapped his temple.

Keith stopped his counter attack and circled his sister. She circled him back. In this lull she asked, “When am I allowed to tell you how badly you fucked up?”

“I don’t need you to say it.” He faced her.

She faced him. “In a way it is my duty to.”

“Your duty as my sister?”

“As well as my duty as Lance’s friend.”

He rushed her. This scuffle was significantly shortened by Keith’s growing impatience. “You’re rushing,” she admonished when she released him.

“I know.”

“You know. You know. You know and yet Lance is gone.”

Keith at last stood upright. Surprised, she did the same.

“I was venting,” he clapped his hands against his thigh as punctuation. “I was frustrated and angry and Shiro was willing to listen. Lance had the good luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He heard my unprocessed thoughts. What I said to Lance wasn’t for _Lance_ to hear.”

“What did you say that he was so angry he left in the middle of the night?”

Keith blew out a sigh and scratched his hair.

“I’m going to find out eventually whether you tell me or not.”

“Stop bullying me, I’m just trying to remember all of it. I said that he was manipulative to the point that he didn’t care how he toyed around with me and Shiro so far as he got pregnant.”

Acxa made an _ouch_ face.

“Shut up.”

“Do you _really_ believe that?”

“I don’t have to believe it, I’ve _seen_ it. He took Shiro to a Terran restaurant where Shiro’s old friends were and told me to use his emotional vulnerability to get on his good side!”

“Okay, I can see where you’re coming from but that’s kinda not a bad thing.”

“How is it not a bad thing? You mean it’s not a bad thing _yet._ That’s a _quintessential example_ of taking advantage of someone’s emotions! And Shiro for the moment was basically powerless to both recognize what Lance was doing _and_ to call him out on it! But when _I_ do, so that Lance can stop before he does it again and again and again, that makes _me_ the villain? I want a healthy relationship with both Lance _and_ Shiro! That’s why I brought it to his attention! But he doesn’t _listen._ He doesn’t _understand._ And now you’re on his side.”

Demurely, “I don’t do sides. I never called you a villain.”

“No, but you were quick to tell me I fucked up.”

“There are more...there are fairer ways of tackling this issue than getting angry at Lance.”

“Do you even understand why I’m angry?”

“ _I_ do. _Lance_ doesn’t.”

“I _know_ he doesn’t that’s why—”

“ _Listen_ ,” she growled.

Keith stilled despite himself. For all he could not hear, her posture and teeth and the vibration in the air told him she used Voice. He could break out of the thrall if he chose, it was weak and she had no intention of keeping him restrained, but he accepted her admonition because it was rare that Voice bubbled out of her.

“Do you understand how Lance works at the parties he attends?”

“Of course I do.”

“Explain it to me.”

He arched an eyebrow, curious where she was going with this. “He talks to people. Leads them onto a train of thought and then like,” he gestured abstractly, “makes them think it was their own idea so whenever they act, they act according to his wants and he gets paid for it.”

She sighed.

Keith growled, “ _What?”_

“That is such a cursory understanding that Lanceria could have come up with it.”

He blushed in anger. “You’re saying I don’t know my own husband?”

“Yes.”

He felt that like a shot to the heart. He felt very cold and very cruel suddenly. Clearly hurt he whispered, _“Acxa…”_

A little indecision flashed in her eyes at his tone of voice but she resolved to stay firm. “I’m sure you know him better in some ways than in others but you are willfully turning a blind eye to the way he thinks and I think I know why. It’s strange isn’t it? That he’s being praised to withhold information or lead others on a train of thought and be paid for it. I’m sure your blunt self discounted it as fanciful lying.”

She wasn’t wrong but Keith daren’t admit it. His silence justified her regardless.

“In our family we prioritize knowledge, trust, and truth. And here is Lance who seems to go against the core belief of the Blades.”

“You’re saying he doesn’t?”

“I’m saying that where he comes from his core beliefs are _different. That_ is why he is a successful informant. If the roles were reversed and Voltron had the mindset of the Marmora, Lance would be an outcast and branded as a pathological liar. But in _this_ world he is king.”

“But you admit he’s lying.”

“No,” she shook her head. “ _Listen_ to me.”

He braced his footing and faced her squarely, forced mind open though irritation buzzed in his blood.

“ _Our_ mindset, the way you and I were raised, makes us see Lance’s tool of interacting with others in a formal setting as manipulation at best or lying at worst. From Lance’s perspective and from the vantage of the people he deals with on a day to day basis—including his family—his tool of interacting with others is just that. A tool. I’ve noticed very often that people often recognize exactly what Lance is doing but much like our game just a while ago they match him tit for tat. It’s a game to them too, a battle of wits. It’s like that game he likes—”

“Othello,” Keith murmured to himself.

“—but instead of pieces on the board he uses words and acting and knowledge of his clients.”

And like the sun peaking over a poppy field Keith began to understand.

“But…” he began and saw Acxa’s shoulders fall. Quickly, “Wait, I think I get it, I think I do but I don’t understand…why does Lance use that…tool…at home? He can just be honest with us.”

“Lance is always honest.”

“You know what I mean. He…he _performs,_ when he’s in the field.”

“He adjusts his behavior to each situation. Don’t you?” She deadpanned, “Well, probably you wouldn’t. That’s why you come off as crass or rude.”

Keith made a rude gesture at her.

“Case in point.”

“What I mean is: we don’t have that tool. We’re at a disadvantage. He can’t use that tool at home because it’s unfair. Isn’t it?”

“ _That_ is what you should discuss with him.”

Keith looked away. She stepped up to him and nudged his ankles with her toes until he looked at her again.

“Did you stop attending those parties as Lance’s escort because you didn’t like watching him work?”

“No…it’s because…people looked at him differently when he introduced me as his husband.”

“So it’s less about you saving Lance’s face and more being ashamed of yourself?”

Keith, contrary to her prediction of another outburst, nodded and dropped his head. He moaned, “I’m a coward. I don’t deserve him.”

She held his shoulders at arm’s width and moved her thumbs in a consoling gesture.

-

Shiro went to visit the Holts. They wouldn’t open for another three hours. When he made it to the back entrance as Pidge told him to do, it was Matt who reached out to him. Shiro had his arm full of body before he recognized Matt was sobbing.

“What is it? Where’s your father?”

“He and—he and Katie—they’re—they—”

“Easy easy easy,” he ushered him inside. “Sit down. Hey, hey, you there—where’s Sam or Katie?”

The big fellow stopped in his tracks. He had a wide tray of food and a mild sheen of sweat on his brow. The kitchen a few rooms away was already in full swing. Something smelled great.

The big fellow said, “Mr. Holt and Pidge left when they got intel on Mrs. Colleen Holt’s whereabouts. They’ve been gone for half an hour.”

“ _What?_ They found her?”

“Yes sir.”

No wonder Matt was this anxious. “Can you help me get Matt to his room?”

He looked trapped. “I’m dealing with a customer right now sir—”

“A customer? Now? You’re open?”

“No, but…he’s the one who gave Mr. Holt the intel. I was told to get him whatever he wants.”

Shiro straightened. “…oh…kay…”

“Sorry sir.” And he left.

“I’m fine,” Matt gasped. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Shiro half dragged him to the office and closed the door. He found a set of glasses and a pitcher amid the organized chaos and poured them water. “Have you been crying this entire time?”

“No,” in rubbing his eyes he knocked aside his spectacles. “But they kicked me out of the kitchen and I haven’t…I can’t just sit here and _wait,_ Takashi! _We’ve found our mom._ Unless this is just a sick joke and I’m flipping out over nothing…”

“If the customer out there is who I think it is it’s probably not a joke for cheap thrills. Drink.”

Matt drank hastily. “You know who it is?”

“If it’s a _he,_ with light brown skin, long legs, blue eyes and quick wit, then yes.”

Matt gave him a look.

“Don’t you remember I first came here with an omega?”

“No I…I didn’t notice,” he rubbed his temples. “Why didn’t I notice…?”

“Easy. It’s okay. That was an excitable day for all of us. Today is too.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He drank. “Sorry I broke down on you like that.”

“Don’t be.”

“Did you want to hang out today or…”

“I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was alright.”

“Is that why your…uh, _patron_ is here too?”

“No, I didn’t expect him to be here. Actually I didn’t expect him to come down here and tell you himself Colleen’s whereabouts. He told me yesterday and I thought he was leaving it up to me to tell you today. That’s partly why I’m here.”

Matt frowned and scoffed and sighed. “ _Why_ did he find her? How did he _find_ her? We’ve been looking for her for _years_ and he just—who _is_ this guy?”

“I’m still figuring that part out.”

Matt drank. Shiro poured him some more water. Matt’s face was dry now but his eyes were bright red. He said, “What’s the angle to finding my mom? Winning our trust? A foot in the door to eventually buy our property?”

“I’ve only known him for a little while but he doesn’t strike me as nefarious.”

“I’m sorry, you sound a little naïve.”

“I know. Pidge said the same thing.”

“I know he helped you out but forgive me: I’m staying skeptical.”

“That’s fine. Are you feeling better?”

“Peachy.” He blew his nose.

“I also…he found Adam.”

Matt stopped. “What? _Really?”_

“Yeah.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s living on a private estate outside of the city with an omega named _Curtis Kinkade._ And uh…apparently he’s his stud.”

“Sex slave?”

“I hope that’s not it but this Curtis already has two kids so if I had to guess…”

“Poor Adam.”

“Lance didn’t mention anything about him being abused so I’m not worried.”

“That would be a convenient omission.”

Before he could stop himself he glared.

Matt straightened.

“Sorry,” his shoulders hunched. “Sorry.”

Matt eased. “…you really like this guy, huh?”

“He’s growing on me,” Shiro admitted. “What I’ve seen of him and his family so far makes it hard for me to imagine them as the bad guys. I’ve seen my fair share of selfish people who happily put others down to make themselves feel powerful. I can tell you for a fact that Lance and Keith are not those people.”

Matt nodded demurely.

Shiro stood. “I didn’t say that to change your opinion of them.”

Matt hummed.

“Mind if I go say hello?”

“Of course not. You’re gonna stay around for when mom comes in?”

“I don’t think I should. I think that’s strictly a family affair.”

“You’re family.”

Shiro smiled. “I’ll visit her properly later.”

Matt nodded and stood and pulled Shiro into a hug.

Then he went to the floor.

It was empty and that made the space and its tiers of tables look bigger. Amber light funneled through the windows and painted the leisurely dust mites in glitter. Most chairs were upside-down on their designated tables save for a booth where a familiar peal of laughter broke the silence.

Shiro's last memory of Lance was feral and tempestuous. Seeing him chuckle and break bread with the server he’d interacted with earlier surprised him a little.

He was seen.

“Shiro! Hey! What are you doing here? Come sit.”

He sat. “Good morning, Lance. Hello again, um…?”

“Hunk,” he offered his hand. “I’m sorry I meant to come back but—”

“That’s my fault. Hunk is darling so I begged him to keep me company.”

Shiro thought Lance was…loud, this morning. Not in terms of volume, in terms of presentation. It was like putting on makeup to cover a blemish and then putting on a little more just in case.

“Did something happen?”

There was a crack in his performance: Lance stared down at his drink stirring it for a beat too long. He mumbled, “Kinda in the mood for something citrusy…”

“I’ll get it,” Hunk volunteered.

“You’re a _babe,_ Hunk, thank you!”

Hunk scratched the back of his head in _aw shucks_ fashion as he ducked toward the kitchen. When he was out of sight Lance’s smile fell. He no longer looked like a bubbly debutant. He knocked back his sweet tea like it was whiskey.

He asked again, “Are you alright?”

“Got in a fight with my mothers this morning.” He cricked his neck. “How could you tell? Is it in my scent?”

Shiro shook his head.

“I don’t fight with them often so it kicked my mood to the curb today…along with all the shit that went down yesterday.” He winced. “I’m sorry you’ve been privy to our spats recently. Doesn’t paint us in a good light, does it.”

“Even the best of relationships have their downs, Lance. I don’t think less of either you or Keith for it.”

“Heh. Thanks.” He gestured to the spread of food, “Have your pick. I bought a little of everything because I was curious.”

“Did you land the bomb on the Holts that you found Colleen just so that you could have a late breakfast?”

“I sense an accusation in there somewhere.” Lance glared at him a little, “What, are you going to call me _manipulative_ too?”

“Not quite, though this is a callback to the argument you and I had on the day we met.”

His brow cleared in remembrance. “Oh…you said that I shouldn’t have been proud of the fact that the system worked for me, even if I was using it for the greater good.”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not using it for the greater good now, am I? Though no—I didn’t tell Sam where he could find his wife just to get food. I was walking by and thought _why not?_ The food’s just a perk. I would have gone with them but her contract is already suspended so they shouldn’t have any trouble releasing her.”

“Would you have anything to do with that suspended contract?”

“Have you tried this? The dates and the curry really offset each other.”

Shiro accepted the change in topic and ate.

Hunk returned around that time with a big jug and an ashen expression. “Uh…my lord—”

“Mm? They’re back with Colleen already? Fast. Do me a favor, wrap all this up for me, send it to the Marmora-de Leone residence? Antok’s gonna love learning to replicate this. Here, and keep the change.”

Hunk scrambled. “This is much too much!”

“I said keep the change, didn’t I?” and he stood.

Shiro vacated the booth to give him space. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m not in the mood for a teary reunion right now, I just stayed long enough to make sure my aim fell true.” He mimed a gun going off with his finger. “Thanks for the company my man, my compliments to the chef. Staying, Shiro?”

“Uh, no,” though he would have wanted to tell Matt he was going in person.

Hunk smiled, “I’ll let them know.”

“Thanks, Hunky Monkey,” Lance kissed him on his cheek. “I owe you a date.”

Hunk grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Shiro left with Lance and Lance stared in surprise.

“Unless you wanted to be left alone…?”

“No.” He kicked at a pebble. “Thank you.”

Today they went to a park. Shallow pools of water were everywhere. Shiro narrowly dodged a girl and her dog. Her sire apologized as she chased after them. The air smelled of fruit and falling leaves. Lance picked one.

“You’re still hungry?”

“I didn’t eat all that much.” He laughed, “What, disappointed I ain’t one of those salad eatin’ omega?”

Shiro didn’t understand. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“It really doesn’t, does it.” Lance ate and his eyes twinkled. “Do you have a type?”

“Type of what?”

“Of person you’d be down to fuck.”

Shiro jumped at his language. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just making conversation. You mentioned your husband’s alpha and you didn’t seem put out about having sex with Keith because he’s beta, so am I right in guessing sex doesn’t matter to you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Do you have a type?”

“Well. I prefer men.” Shiro offered his elbow when Lance bowed to redo his sandals and nearly fell. “If he’s passionate to a fault, loves learning and can match me in an argument, I’m usually hook line and sinker.”

Lance snorted. “I bet you fell for your Adam mid-argument, right?”

Shiro smiled a little. “I did, actually.”

Lance stared at the tree.

“We were arguing politics, which is one of the worst topics to discuss. At all. Ever.”

Lance stared past the tree.

“When he made a brilliant point I lost my train of thought and complimented him, and he forgot what he was going to say next.”

Lance was distracted. “Charming story.”

“Are you looking for someone?”

“I’m trying to catch the attention of the guy tailing us.”

Shiro turned in shock. “We’re being followed?”

“It’s fine,” Lance stuck his hands up, dragged his forefingers from the heel of his left hand down the palm to the tips of his fingers and made a big _come here_ motion.

Keith shuffled forward.

Shiro jumped. He hadn’t noticed him. He was wearing a scarf over his head and around his neck and most of the articles of clothing Shiro usually identified him by—strong arms and revealed gauntlets, sandals laced up his calves—were replaced by long sleeves and skirts that made him look soft and tame.

“Good morning, Yorakeith.”

“Good morning,” he signed. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your walk.”

His _walk?_ Did Keith have a distinct walk? Keith’s raised a brow in thought but didn’t ask it. His eyes darted to the left and to Lance, who was clearly anticipating him to make the first move. This was the meekest Shiro had ever seen him. “Are you willing to speak with me?”

“Maybe.”

He looked Lance in the eye. He said firmly, “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I was ranting to Shiro because I was frustrated and pent up and you don’t deserve to hear anyone talking about you so…meanly, especially someone you’re supposed to trust. I spoke from a place of cowardice and emasculation and that’s not your responsibility. I’m sorry I made it sound like it was.” He frowned a little. “I’m sorry.”

Lance asked neutrally, “Is that all?”

Keith looked frantic.

“No no I mean, are you done can I speak now or do you have something more to say?”

Keith frowned a little. “I feel like I’m forgetting something,” he admitted.

Lance smirked a little. “Did you rehearse this?”

Keith blushed a little. “Yes.”

Lance smiled a little kinder. “I’m sorry too. There’s a…couple blank spots in how we’ve been communicating recently, like a _don’t ask don’t tell_ area and that resulted in you blowing up and me keeping things to myself.”

Keith looked alarmed. “Keeping things…?”

“I’m willing to speak with you. Are you willing to discuss this with me?”

He looked hopeful. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“It will be a long conversation.”

“I don’t expect us to get through this in a single day.”

“I’m still a little mad at you but I appreciate you coming to me.”

“Of course I would,” Keith said sadly. “I love you.”

Lance smiled and reached out his hand. Keith took it, and Lance kissed his knuckles. Shiro felt _his_ heart skip a beat, and Keith’s expression betrayed his had too.

“Can we lay down some ground rules for our talk?”

“Yes,” Keith said a little breathlessly. “Are we going to talk here?”

“No, too open.” To Shiro: “We’re moving. Would you—”

Keith grasped Lance’s shoulder, “Can he come with us?”

Lance was surprised. “You want him there while we’re going to be talking at length about the faults in our relationship?”

“Yes,” Keith winced. “It kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, he’s going to be joining it.”

There was too much wiggle room in the way Keith phrased that. Keith and Lance’s relationship was, until this moment (fight included), romantic, sexual, passionate and exclusive. Did Keith imply Shiro was joining them as an alpha in the Voltron sense? Or did he hold out hope for polyamory?

Lance met Shiro’s considering expression. “Do you want to?”

Shiro eventually and slowly nodded.

“You look surprised.”

“I am,” Lance answered Keith. “This won’t necessarily be a pleasant jam session, you know.”

“I figure.”

“I didn’t know you liked us this much.”

Shiro smiled. “You grew on me.”

Lance waved to catch their attention. “Ground rules.”

They nodded.

“If we get angry we hold one another’s hand and count to ten.”

“Okay.”

“No interrupting each other.”

“Okay.”

“And we have this discussion in the form of questions we ask one after the other.”

“Okay.”

“We answer as clearly and thoroughly as we can.”

“Okay.”

“Any questions?”

Keith shook his head. They glanced at Shiro.

“No questions.”

Lance offered Shiro his elbow and looped his other arm around Keith. “Then let’s get going.”

“This isn’t the way home.”

“No, we’re not going home.”

-

They arrived a quiet half an hour later. It was a building of high tiered wooden ceilings dripping with lanterns and plants. Broad daises were scattered across the wide open space each accessible by a shallow flight of stairs either going up or down to platforms where people lay on their sides or cross-legged, talking softly or simply hanging, drugs or food or booze or games or books between them.

They were escorted to an area that had a lot of sunlight and a lot of carpet space and was screened off from the rest of the world. Lance threw himself down into the scattered cushions immediately. “May we get your drink and meal menus, please?”

“Of course sir,” their black clad usher replied. “Would you like any snacks while you wait?”

“Do you do garlic knots?”

“I’m…sorry?”

“Or can I ask you to order food from another venue? Just let me know the expense.”

“I’ll ask if that’s possible, sir.”

“Thank you, much appreciated.” He slipped her a tip. She went. “Sit beside me, Shiro. So this is a lounge den. Basically it’s a place for people like politicians or students to veg out and bitch about life or hash out ideas before sealing the deal in ink. We can stay for a maximum of twelve hours. They have showers here too, nothing on the bath house of course but serviceable, and we can send your clothes out to be laundered if that’s what you want.”

“Duly noted.” Shiro was looking around.

Keith settled on the edge of the mat with his backs to them undoing the laces of his sandals with far more care than necessary. Lance crawled over to him and snaked his arms around his shoulders. Keith paused. When he submitted to Lance, he tilted his head down and away offered access to his gland. Lance kissed it and the space beside it.

He pulled him a little. “Stop brooding,” he signed such that Keith went a little cross-eyed trying to follow. “We won’t be productive if your guilt gets in the way.”

“I’m scared of getting angry with you.”

“Likewise,” his teeth were unsheathed.

Shiro watched them sit facing each other cross-legged.

“Okay. Can I start?”

“Yeah,” Keith spoke with both his hands and his voice. Lance did too. “Oh, wait, before that, here.”

“Here? What— _eeeeeeee! You found it!”_

Shiro watched Lance fiddled with a…dice? It was tiny and oddly shaped with many bone white faces and smooth from repetitive use.

“It’s a locket puzzle!” Lance showed his toy off. It rattled. “I’ve been looking for it for a while. If I figure out the combination then I can get access to whatever is inside.”

“Is there something inside?”

“Yes,” Keith smiled. “I put something inside it years ago.”

“He _refuses_ to tell me what it is. Must be non-perishable though.” He rattled it again.

He asked Keith, “So you’re good at puzzles?”

“I’ve solved all of Lance’s puzzles.”

“He’s _great_ at puzzles. Most problem solving actually. It’s just feelings he’s shit at. He’s a genius at most else.”

Keith, blushing, glared irritably. “Thank…you.”

“You’re welcome, babe.”

Shiro suppressed a shiver. That sort of backhanded compliment is what led to Lance’s perennial superiority. Shiro understood it was intentional _now_ , that Lance was flexing on Keith because he was pissed, but he could bring it out at any time. Who’s to say he wasn’t always using that side of him if to different degrees?

This was what Keith was talking about, wasn’t it? That Lance was always… _on._ Always seeing, always adjusting his environment for his best possible outcome. Keith was left with trusting Lance blindly not to hurt him or his family. Despite the glaring faults in that dynamic, his loyalty paid off beautifully: he won Lance’s devotion and, whether he liked it or used it or not, he won access to a lot of influence and power.

But Keith probably felt lonely that he couldn’t understand facets to Lance’s behavior.

Shiro sat back to watch them some more.

“Comfy?”

“Yes.”

He laughed when Keith threw a cushion at him and when Lance stuffed another behind his head. Lance sat at Shiro’s feet, fingers working rapidly and blindly at the responsive fidget toy. Keith sat by Shiro’s head, capable of resting his hand in his hair at any moment. Like so, they began.

“First question.”

Keith nodded.

“Do you want a divorce?”

_“Of course not!”_

Lance and Shiro jumped. Keith was never loud. He was red in anger and disbelief and hurt. “Why would you _say_ that?”

Lance shrunk a little. He fiddled with the ring at the hollow of his throat. “I had to ask you to marry me thrice.”

“That was _different._ I was…wary.”

“Of me?”

“Of the process. I…knew that it was significant to _you_ but I didn’t like the legal part of it.”

“Why didn’t you ever _tell_ —” He cut himself off. He exhaled, purging the irritation from his tone. “Explain.”

“The legal benefits of matrimony began in the tradition of beta being subservient to omega, right?”

“So you didn’t like being subservient to me.”

“I still don’t.”

Lance was motionless.

“I mean, it depends.”

“Depends?”

“Don’t…it’s like, if I _want_ to be subservient to you that’s different, obviously. But I don’t like that the way marriage is set up I don’t have that choice in some things…but it’s not that I don’t trust you to make good decisions on my behalf. It’s just that I also want to make those decisions!” Keith slowed down. “I trust you. If you were a little better trained I’d trust you with my life on the field.”

Lance joked mildly, “That doesn’t mean much, you trust Regris with your life.”

“I trust Regris.” Keith returned definitely.

Lance narrowed his eyes. “You’re always telling me to—”

“Take Acxa?”

“I thought that was because you didn’t trust him. Or is it that you don’t trust him with me?”

“Regris respects you. He’d do nothing untoward.”

“So why are your panties always in a twist when I ask him to escort me?”

“He postures around you. I don’t like people thinking that that means you’re his because you don’t call him out on it.”

“I don’t call him out on it because I’m yours.”

“People don’t always see that.”

“Maybe they _would_ if you were _beside me_ more often.”

_“Maybe I’d be beside you more often if—”_

Shiro interrupted: “You’re getting off track.”

They both whipped to him.

Shiro, unyielding, continued softly, “And you’re getting angry.”

Lance and Keith looked at one another and sighed. Lance held out his hand and Keith took it. “Ten.”

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

Shiro admired then. They apologized, they squeezed hands, and then Keith said, “Thanks, Shiro.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Lance pulled on a toe. He grinned when Shiro poked his thigh with it.

Their usher then returned asking for their orders and replying that they could indeed send for garlic knots. A little findangling and negotiating later and they were alone again.

Lance volunteered in a new voice, “You feel like you can’t make choices sometimes.”

Keith nodded. “Sometimes.”

“What…kind of choices?”

Keith shrugged, “Like, say, if I wanted to buy property I can’t do that without your consent. Or…if I wanted to invest in a business. Or if I wanted to purchase an alpha.”

“But I wanted you to marry me because you’d be able to do that. No one will stop you if you’re married to me.” Didn’t being married to him bring Keith more options than if he were a nameless dismissible Marmora?

“That’s just it—I don’t want to be _allowed_ like I’m some rowdy kid. If I were single I wouldn’t need to ask anyone. But that doesn’t mean I want to divorce you. I love being beside you. I love being your partner. It’s just that in this city being your partner comes with restrictions and connotations and unspoken rules and I feel… _useless_ when I have to use the name Lanceria de Leone to bypass them.” Keith rubbed his hair and grit his teeth and Lance waited as patiently as he could. “I sound like a whiny brat.”

“A little, yeah.”

“It’s not your responsibility that I feel emasculated or helpless. This isn’t an excuse: but the institution of marriage, the system, it makes me feel weak. That’s why I resisted marrying you at first.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Keith’s eyes flickered. He sighed. “I don’t know. Fear. Pride. I thought it was _my_ problem, _my_ feelings, not something that involved you. No offense.” He offered his hand on the carpet between them. “I thought that it was my hurdle to overcome quietly. Before I knew it it coloured how I looked at you. And I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you earlier.”

Lance took his hand. “It’s not because you don’t trust me that you didn’t say it? You’re sure?”

“It’s not because I don’t trust you. I promise.”

Lance stared at him for a heartbeat and then kissed his knuckles.

“Does this mean I answered your first question?”

Lance nodded and smiled.

Keith pumped the air. They laughed. Some of the tension died. Lance looked thoughtful. Keith looked like there was still so much he wanted to say. He said as much.

“We’ll get there eventually,” Lance promised him. “Patience yields—”

“Quote Kolivan at me and I will…I will…”

Lance snorted. “Yes? What are you going to threaten me with?”

“I don’t _know._ You’re so fucking kinky that I can’t think of anything you won’t enjoy.”

Lance grinned but looked a little embarrassed when Shiro hid his face to laugh quietly.

“My turn.”

“Oh dear.”

“Shut it.”

“Ha. Shoot.”

Keith squared his shoulders. “Why did you choose me to marry?”

Lance chortled, “Because I love you, dumbass.”

Pointedly: “You could have had me as a lover.”

That gave Lance pause.

“You’re the one who told me that marriages mean something to the genteel. Marriage is a statement as well as a legal bond between families and properties. You could have married someone who understood…the way you work.”

Lance growled, “Acxa told you about Ryan.”

Keith stayed firm. “She mentioned you worked together yesterday, yes.”

“There’s nothing between us, you know.”

“He’s cut from the same cloth you are, though. He wouldn’t have made a good partner?”

“Ryan,” Lance snapped, “is a two-faced snake whose ultimate authority is coin. Friendships and family are second. And _he_ is one of my dearest friends!”

Shiro snorted.

Lance smiled a little. “Yes, exactly.” He soured again. “Keith, I am not going to marry a person who I know won’t have my back. If I can’t trust them with my feelings and thoughts, how can I trust them with my shortcomings, much less my property and, ultimately, my children? I married you because you and your family have core values that I lacked growing up. Sure I have a big family and we’re closer than most but…y’know what was the first thing my mothers said to me today after I came home in the middle of the night in the middle of the rain?”

Keith frowned in sympathy.

“They got on my case about the message I was sending by buying Takashi and his freedom.”

Shiro jerked a little. Lance pinched his toe. “Don’t worry, baby. No-one can touch you and I’m not sending any messages that I don’t mean to send. But my family, for all of their love for me and for one another, they have priorities that were shaped by the world that came before me and…I don’t like it. I don’t think that’s right. I don’t think our family values are right and what’s worse is that they’re so _common_. My parents did a great job raising us but there’s something inherently broken about how we function, and I’ve only been able to see it as an adult. I think that your family is the way a family should look. I married you because I wanted to be selfish and be a part of the love I saw you have for each other.”

Keith looked away.

Lance waited politely. He startled when he heard a wet sniff. He grabbed his shoulder.

“I’m okay.” As he was dragged forward to cry against Lance’s breast he didn’t resist.

Lance kissed his hair and rubbed his back until he calmed down. To get comfortable, Keith wrapped his legs around Lance’s waist and Lance around the outside of Keith’s thighs. Shiro felt a little heartsick and a little lonely watching them. He came to as they broke apart.

Keith furiously wiped at his face. “I didn’t know.”

Lance wiped his cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re such a crybaby.”

Keith smacked his hand over Lance’s face. _“Don’t look!”_

Lance tickled him in revenge.

 _This is going well,_ Shiro was impressed.

“You okay now?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Ready for my second question?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” And he put a little distance between them. Keith looked morose, but didn’t crawl forward to bridge the gap.

“What do you mean when you say I’m manipulative?”

Keith groaned.

“C’mon.”

“I’ll answer I’ll answer. Just give me a minute.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to phrase it in a way that you won’t get defensive.”

Lance already looked plenty defensive in Shiro’s opinion. But Lance remained obedient and quiet. While Keith mulled over the question, Lance toyed with Shiro and rested the bowl of garlic knots on his hip.

Shiro looked down his nose with an expression that was less than amused and thoroughly unimpressed.

Lance chuckled, “You look like Keith when you do that.”

“I do?”

“He’s rubbing off on you.” Lance ate. “Or maybe you were already like that which is why you get along so well.”

Shiro and Keith exchanged a look.

“You guys kiss, yet?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Keith and Shiro exchanged a look.

Lance looked wildly entertained. “Ooh, I was joking! I wanna hear about it. That’s my third question, okay?”

Keith drawled, “Glad you’re having fun.”

Lance slapped at the empty space between them. “Answer answer!”

Keith grabbed a plate of potatoes. In an empty bowl he abruptly began mashing them.

“What—”

“Just wait.”

 _Mash mash mash mash mash._ Then he transferred it to another empty plate, big and flat, and began shaping a ring made of potato mash. A confounded Shiro sat up to watch him work—Lance only _just_ saved his garlic knots.

Keith grabbed a bowl of gravy. “Okay, it’s like this. The gravy represents the situation and the mashed potato represents the context of the situation—”

“I don’t understand.”

_“Already! I just started!”_

Shiro’s cheeks bloated with aborted laughter.

Lance asked, “What does _context of a situation_ mean?”

“Um…okay. Like: you and I talk about having kids pretty often. The context of having kids was different before and after we got Shiro.”

“Oh, because now it’s a conceivable reality whereas before it was hypothetical.”

“Yeah.”

Shiro chuckled a little to himself. Keith’s explanation, if possible, sounded even more confusing.

“You’re on the same page with us Shiro?”

“Hmm…I guess it’s like you’re talking about the same thing, but depending on the factors in your environment the connotations of what you’re discussing is different?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m on the same page then. Continue.”

“Okay,” and Keith poured the gravy into the bowl. “Okay, so the gravy represents the situation and the mashed potato represents the context of the situation. For simplicity’s sake we’ll say the gravy is about whether or not Shiro wants to buy new leather sandals and the potato represents all the factors that will define his choice. You understand?”

“Yes,” Shiro and Lance chorused.

“So let’s say he has two choices, yes or no.” And Keith dug a little byway in his potato wall in two areas, allowing the gravy to seep out. “Yes, because he has the money. No, because he’s happy with the shoes he has. He has those two choices, they’re both viable options for him.”

Lance frowned, because Keith seemed to be harping on _choice_ and he wasn’t happy with where he was sure the conversation was going.

Keith went on like he was picking his words with great care. “When I said you were manipulative,” and he repaired the potato wall, “I mean it like this: you change the context so that the options available to Shiro change.” He dug new paths in the wall. “Maybe you tell Shiro that there’s sandals upstairs so he doesn’t have to buy anything. Maybe you offer to buy sandals for him. Maybe you do nothing but because you’re smiling at him he gets flustered and points at the wrong sandals for purchase.”

Shiro chuckled a little.

Lance’s face was screwed up.

Keith noticed. “What is it? Do you not understand or are you mad at me?”

“Hold my hand and count from ten.”

Keith licked his fingers clean. “Ten.”

“Ew.”

_“Ten.”_

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

Shiro ate a garlic knot.

Lance exhaled. He said, “Question.”

Keith nodded.

“You say this like…granting more options for Shiro is a bad thing.”

“It’s not, by itself. You’re trying to be helpful and that’s very kind of you. But the problem comes in when you guide him to the option that you think is best without taking his desires into account.”

“What?”

“Like, maybe _you_ decide that Shiro needs new sandals.” Keith repaired all the holes in the “wall” save for one. “You adjust the context so that the gravy only has one way to seep out, so that Shiro only has one choice, whatever that choice may be. Maybe you buy him new sandals and surprise him with it.”

“Okay? So?? Shiro gets new sandals.”

Keith stared into his eyes until Lance straightened. Then: “The point isn’t that Shiro gets new sandals. The point is that you _influenced his choice.”_

Lance returned, “People influence peoples choices all the time. Arguments, debates, discussions, by offering new knowledge…”

“You’re right. But that’s where a healthy back and forth is established. Your skills of reading and manipulating a room is _leagues_ ahead of what regular people are capable of—I can’t keep up with an argument with you most days—so when you use _that particular tool_ of influencing Shiro’s choice he’s outclassed to offer any response other than the option you gave him.”

Lance hugged his knees to his chest.

Keith touched his toes. “You have our best interests at heart, Lanceria, and I recognize that. But you can’t continue to make decisions for us _without_ our input.”

Lance peeped, “This is part of what makes you feel useless, isn’t it.”

And like a storm lifting Keith’s face cleared. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you ever _tell me!?”_

“It’s hard! And it’s hard for this exact reason!” He pointed to the plate. “You’re better at discussions than me and I get sidetracked or you can completely miss the point of what I’m saying or get defensive so I just…I…”

“You gave up.”

Keith bit his lip.

Lance looked miserable. “I’m so difficult that I made you give up on us.”

“ _No._ That’s not it.”

“You’re not giving up,” Shiro volunteered. They looked at him. “The fact that you’re here, discussing this, means that you’re not giving up. As of this moment you’re different from the young men who started this discussion. Learn from this back and forth and your relationship will be all the better for it.”

Lance looked unsure but Keith nodded in agreement.

Keith asked, “Did you understand my explanation?”

“Yes…but I…I didn’t recognize that’s what I was doing I…I thought I was being helpful.”

“You were. You are. All I’m asking is…maybe, _include us_ in what you’re thinking and doing. Let us offer feedback. Let us choose from multiple options with you. Let’s be a team.”

Lance nodded, grim and pensive.

Keith crawled forward. “Can I kiss you?”

“Mn.”

Keith kissed Lance’s cheek.

“Your turn now.”

Keith drew back, though seemed loathe to. Shiro wasn’t sure when it happened but there was some unspoken rule that developed between them that said they be facing each other while asking each other questions. He wondered: _is it so that they can read each other’s hands, or is it that they’d otherwise be unable to keep their hands off one another?_

They were obviously lovey-dovey. It wouldn’t surprise him if they attempted a quickie in this public space with nothing but the screens to preserve their modesty.

(Despite himself, the thought of watching them flickered through his mind. He frowned and immediately berated himself, repulsed—and alarmed—by his impulses.)

Keith’s question roused him. “Why did you choose Shiro?”

Lance recoiled. His eyes flashed between them. “You know I’ve been set on him for a long time.”

“Sure, but wanting him to impregnate us is relatively new.”

Lance looked to the side. “Considering your definition of _manipulative_ I dunno if you’d like my answer.”

Keith frowned. “Tell me anyway.”

“You know how you said that marriage is a statement among the gentry?”

“Yes.”

“And how that’s true for alpha too?”

“Yeah.”

“And how my parents were getting under my skin about buying and freeing Shiro?”

“…yes.”

“Buying and the _freeing_ the king’s Champion kinda implies a lot about my political stance.”

Shiro said, “When we first met you mentioned that there was a rebel group that used me as their mascot.”

“Right. They’re calling for a lot of things, such as ending the war on Terran and discontinuing the circus. Your situation fell into a sweet spot intersecting the two, so you became the face of their protests.”

Keith mumbled, “If that’s the case shouldn’t we be wary of having Shiro in public? What’s stopping them from swarming him at a moment’s notice?”

“With one of the Blades on us at almost every hour of the day we don’t need to worry about that.”

Shiro was relieved, but that brought a new question to the forefront of his mind. Why _did_ Lance have such robust security? What little he knew of Lance meant that he was well known. Wasn’t that security enough?

Keith asked, “Fine, so, what, you got to Shiro because you wanted to make a political statement?”

“Partly, yes. I wanted to send the message that Voltron’s way of doing things doesn’t work. Not anymore. By disassociating the Champion from Zarkon I imply change needs to happen outside of the monarchy, but by freeing him I imply that it’s not the decision of its noble class either.”

Keith looked dubious. “Is that enough?”

“The message is reaching who it needs to reach, trust me.”

Shiro grumbled, “Like King Zarkon?”

“King Zarkon will never be able to touch you again,” Lance replied fiercely. “If there’s anyone he’d have beef with it’s me.”

“You’re doing it again.” Keith interrupted. “Rely on us. Talk to us. You can’t take on the world on your own.”

Lance paused.

“What could Zarkon do to you?”

“…he wouldn’t like me, but what else is new? The ongoing battle with Terran and loss of Narquod have soured his mood for years, but I’ve been a court favourite since I’m his daughter’s best friend and opened up safe trading routes to the rest of the empire. The most he could do to me is glare at me from across the hall.”

“That’s a pompous way of saying you’re untouchable without actually saying it.”

Lance pushed Keith’s forehead and he toppled back. “I’m not _untouchable,_ more like I’m not doing anything for him to get substantially pissed at me.” He paused. “I know it looks like I’m doing a lot but frankly the Coalition has been making more headway than me when it comes to reform. They’ve already appealed for two laws to be revoked and they’ve been successful. Compared to them I’ve been coddling the people I want to change.”

Shiro tilted his head. How curious that Lance felt helpless in his line of work. Maybe that’s why he was overzealous at home…

Did Keith have the same train of thought? He shuffled forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Lance’s tight mouth. “You’re making change. You’re changing lives. Bit by bit. That’s good work.”

Lance sighed, “Stop that, you’re making me fall in love with you.”

_“You mean you weren’t already!?”_

Shiro laughed.

Keith sobered, “But that doesn’t answer my question. Buying and freeing Shiro I understand. You more or less had a crush on him since day one—”

Lance stuttered: “I-I-I-wouldn’t ssay _crush!”_

“—but what I don’t get is that you specifically want him to _impregnate_ us.”

“Well, _you_ were doing a _great_ job of finding us an alpha weren’t you!”

Keith smarted. “I didn’t find anyone who smelled right!”

Shiro arched a brow. “Smell?”

Lance pushed Keith. He toppled again. “Keith is stingy and has very specific likes. He rates them based on their smell and how well their scent fits against his and mine…or so he claims. Sounds like hokum to me.”

_“You just have a shitty sense of smell!”_

Shiro, genuinely curious, turned to Keith. “And you approve of me?”

Keith was bashful. “Of course. Wasn’t that obvious?”

“Did you know he would, Lance?”

“Mm-mm, not at all. I’m surprised he took to you so well. Suspicious even.”

_“His smell fits.”_

“Hokum!”

Shiro slouched, “The more I hear about you the more your every day sounds like a gamble.”

“Kinda, yeah!”

“Don’t look so happy about that.”

Lance giggled.

Keith interrupted, “You’re evading my question.”

Lance stuttered, “I’m not—when have I—how _dare—”_

Shiro leaned forward in interest.

“Fine. I specifically wanted Shiro because…” and he blushed and his words got stiff, “because he’s amazing. He’s steadily fought for what he felt was right this whole time and as far as I’ve noticed watching you Shiro…you haven’t lost yourself. You weren’t…I don’t know how to describe it—enigmatic I guess? All I knew is that I needed you. I wanted to learn everything about you. Your personhood fascinates me and I wanted desperately to be your friend.”

It was Shiro’s turn to blush and look away. “Thank you,” he signed.

“It’s fine to admit you have a crush on him y’know.”

“Shuddap, tell me about the kiss.”

It was Keith’s turn to blush and look away. “What’s a kiss?”

_“Yorakeith!”_

Very quickly a serious discussion devolved into play. There was much much more that needed to be discussed, but because they now had a tool to attack their issues it seemed less daunting. Now, when Keith crawled into his space, he didn’t leave.

Shiro thought their body language was a lot like their sign language. Would he have noticed if he hadn’t started learning sign? Would he perhaps have overlooked that each exchange, each bump of shoulders, each time Lance pushed Keith back and he fell in a roll, would he have overlooked that as exaggerated play and not as a separate conversation altogether?

“Did you have questions for us, Shiro?”

Shiro looked to the ceiling in thought. “Not really.” He looked at them. “Though I…I don’t know how to say it without sounding… _patronizing,”_ and he said that word in Terran because he wasn’t sure of its Altean equivalent, and Lance translated for Keith with a short signal, “but I’m kinda proud of you guys. _Really_ proud of you guys. You took the time out to sit down and work through your problems. That takes a lot of guts, not everyone has the courage to bare their hearts to someone else like that.”

Keith dropped his head to Lance’s shoulder.

“Stop it, Shiro, you’re making Keith embarrassed.”

Shiro smiled.

“But thank you,” and he unraveled from his husband long enough to crawl into Shiro’s space. Shiro tensed. Lance froze.

Keith surreptitiously tugged on Lance’s sleeve.

“Right, sorry,” he retreated. “I forgot.”

“Wh-what?”

“Keith mentioned you don’t like being touched. I forgot. Sorry.” He laughed and flexed his hands. “I’m a touchy feely person so it’s second nature to me. Don’t be afraid to tell me to back off, okay?”

“Oh, I, sure but, it’s not…I’m not,” he paused, mentally translating.

Lance asked in Terran, “Do the words come faster in your own tongue?”

Shiro nodded vigorously.

Lance gave three short gestures to Keith, who nodded, before he asked, “Do you hate touch?”

“No.” He frowned. “I’m…hungry for it, more often than not.”

Lance’s posture softened in sympathy.

“I guess I can’t have gone through what I’ve gone through and not come out completely unmarked. I didn’t mean to…it’s not that I don’t _want_ to touch you—”

Lance lifted his hand and shook his head. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I’ll respect your space.”

Shiro looked down at where his fingers pinched the seam of his shirt.

“…is that what you want?”

“As opposed to…?”

“Well, for example, Acxa had a _severe_ aversion to touch for a long time. She thinks it’s because of a fire she survived as a kid that gave her wicked scars on her back and legs. Sometimes she was all for group hugs, other times she’d cry at the idea of shaking hands. It’s not as bad now because she’s like, re-learning how to enjoy touch, I guess? She usually instigates touches and we reciprocate, and when she can’t take it we back off. Does that sound like something you’d like to try?”

Keith, curiously, wasn’t paying attention. Was that so Shiro wouldn’t feel scrutinized?

He nodded. “Okay.”

Lance smiled bigger than he thought he would. “Okay! So, on a scale of one to five, one being enthusiastic consent and five being a hard no, where does a hug fall for you today?”

“Uh…about a two?”

“Would you like to try a handshake instead?”

“Pfft.”

“Why are you laughing!”

Keith glanced up.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just…has anyone ever told you how cute you are?”

A trill went down Lance’s spine.

Keith chimed, “Every damn day.”

Lance threw a cracker at Keith’s head. “Shut up! You didn’t hear what he said!”

“Didn’t have to: it’s written all over your face.”

If possible, Lance looked even more put out, cheeks enflamed and eyes narrowed in mock frustration.

 _Cute,_ Lance and Shiro thought.

“Do you want the damn handshake or not?”

“Sure,” and he clasped hands with Lance up to the elbow.

Keith narrowed his eyes at them, his greasy cheeks full. “Y’all look suspicious as fuck. Shaking hands like a bunch of back-alley—”

Lance kicked him and he toppled.

-

On the long walk home with the lukewarm sun at their backs, Lance jerked: Shiro’s fingers threaded through his. He looked up. Shiro looked determinedly ahead, features disguised by his long hair.

Lance squeezed. Somehow Shiro understood what was said but was at a loss to put it into words. Instead, he squeezed back.

Then Lance began to sing. Keith didn’t recognize he was singing until he began stomping and swinging their arms in beat, and to Shiro’s surprise Keith joined him. His timing was spot on.

Shiro found it no hardship to listen. He recalled the songs his friends sang as they wove rope bridges and thought how nicely Lance’s range and Keith’s percussion would fit among them.

-

In the morning Kolivan had the pleasure of inviting Shiro into his study for tea. “You went through this one rather quickly.”

“I only read the chapters I was interested in.”

“Might you be looking for more material? I’m happy to refer you—”

“At the expense of my hard work,” Acxa complained from the next room.

Kolivan paused.

Acxa stuck her head out. “You’re not denying it.”

“Baa, could you go down the road and buy me some tangerines please? I feel a need for citrus.”

Acxa complained with six loud stomps. Shiro was smiling at her back as she left. When she parted the curtain he caught a brief glimpse of a stranger mounting the stairs: a man with a shock of red hair and marvelous mustache. His stare roused Kolivan’s attention.

“Is something the matter?”

“There’s someone I don’t recognize outside.” He was unconcerned seeing as Acxa greeted him and went about her way, but this was the first he registered the complex wasn’t isolated from the rest of the world and it jarred him more than he was ready to admit.

Kolivan got to his feet and peeked through the window. “Ah. That would be Coran.”

“Coran.”

“Cornelius Smythe,” Kolivan nodded. “He’s our family physician. He was the one to help birth Lanceria in fact.”

“I assume he’s one of Lance’s friends.”

“He helped give birth to Lance too.”

Shiro felt a pulse of panic when Coran sauntered up to Lance’s and Keith’s apartment. He stood in the doorway and put his hand on his hip.

Kolivan chuckled. “You’re posturing.”

“What? No I’m—” he looked down at himself. “No, this is my default.”

Kolivan’s kind smile said _no it’s not_ and Shiro pouted a little. “It is nothing to be ashamed of. People will tell you different but…” he returned to his desk. “I know for a fact Yorakeith and the little prince would be more than pleased to know _you_ postured for them _.”_

Shiro looked decidedly uncomfortable. He joined Kolivan and sipped his tea. He said, “I could use a confidant.”

Kolivan set something he was consulting aside. “Whatever you say will not leave this room,” he promised.

“I…I agreed to help give Keith and Lance a child but a part of me is growing more and more fond of the idea of…staying.” He frowned. “I’ve only known them for a short time, I don’t understand why I’m latching onto them.”

“I’m completely biased, but the fact that Yorakeith and Lanceria are two passionate, enigmatic, witty and open-minded young men with bleeding hearts might have something to do with it.”

Shiro’s mouth flattened in a line. He wouldn’t meet Kolivan’s gaze.

“Or is it that you’re skeptical about your own feelings?”

“There’s a rift between me and them,” Shiro nodded. “It’s a difference in power to act on our own accord. I operate by their grace and while they don’t hold it over my head I feel it anyway.”

Kolivan hummed.

“And I wonder if I, maybe…I haven’t been in Voltron a very long time but I’ve been quickly socialized to know that alpha don’t…love, like omega and beta do. We’re considered incapable of it or, at best, our form of love is just a softer version of lust.” He frowned at a bad memory. “I suppose what’s worrying me is if I’m starting to believe that. And if what I’m feeling is…admiration or just loyalty or…something else.” He toyed with his cup.

“I’m sorry I can’t answer that question for you.”

Shiro drank his tea.

“What I can say for certain that they don’t share that belief. Yorakeith was raised in an environment where we couple in threes and Lance, when he wasn’t enamored with Narquod’s culture of doing the same, was raised in an environment where his alpha father had the same level of authority and affection for his children and spouses as the Lady and Countess de Leone.”

Shiro played with his cup.

“If you are afraid of potential affections for them I would tell you not to be. Life is too short, and I see how they look at you.”

Shiro looked up, bemused. “There’s no point in that. I’ll be leaving at the end of the year.” And there was the matter of Adam.

Adam! The book with his name and location burned in his mind’s eye. Adam was _alive._ He _could_ see him, touch him. The upset the past two days distracted him from reeling over how easily how easily Shiro could go to him: with his allowance, with his freedom, there was nothing stopping him from marching down the road this moment to find Adam!

In light of that, forging a relationship with his patrons seemed cruel.

“More tea?”

“Thank you.”

“At the end of the year, the termination of an agreement does not equate the termination of a friendship.”

Shiro drank.

“Are you afraid of being close to others?”

Afraid wasn’t the right word. He hadn’t been close to others for a long time, not without an attempt at their life or his at any rate—doctors notwithstanding. His social graces were out of practice. He was surprised that so far all he had to show for it was unreliable hephephobia.

“I just don’t see the point of it. Not when I’m going to leave and be reunited with Adam.”

“Hmm. Are you familiar with the saying, _don’t count your chickens before they hatch?”_

“What, you’re saying I’m unprepared for something?”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t act like the future is set.”

Shiro sighed.

“And there’s nothing lost in befriending a powerful socialite and gifted mercenary.”

Shiro half smiled. “That almost sounds like a threat.”

“Not at all. More a…rare opportunity.”

But Shiro was almost certain he saw Kolivan’s eyes glint as he drank his tea.

They parted with Shiro weighed down with more books and ruminations than he planned to borrow. He recognized it for the fast forming habit that it was. He made to go downstairs and paused.

If he was watching, Kolivan was likely having another laugh at his expense: Shiro made to go downstairs and made it all of three steps before his alpha lizard brain bullied him into turning around and marching towards Keith and Lance’s apartment. _They’re fine they’re fine they’re fine,_ he consciously told himself but his nose and belly remained unconvinced.

He felt like a fool standing in front of the doorway, sun on his neck, books to his breast. Why was his heart seized onto the couple so unerringly? Was it that they were kind? Was it that they reminded him of his own relationship with Adam and the half of him that was starved of affection desired them?

Beside the positive bloom of attraction was the echo of Pidge’s vicious skepticism. _Elitists who invent new ways of keeping their high…they’re treating you with BASIC decency…_ but in a world where they—Lance more than Keith—were wired to look down on alpha wasn’t the fact that they didn’t commendable?

Or was commending them on basic decency part of the problematic system?

And again: Adam. _Adam._ He was alive. He was available! And Shiro was here with his head turned.

Lance parted the cloth.

Shiro jumped.

He smiled confidently. “Good morning, Shiro.”

Shiro felt small. “Hi, Lance.”

“Your shadow was in the doorway for a while. Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, I was…uh,” he ducked his head in shame. It was impossible to rationalize why he was creeping around their entrance when the only logic his mind could supply was _omega beta omega beta omega bet—_

Lance took in his full hand. “You visited Kolivan again.”

Grateful for a switch in topic: “Yes, he always packs me off with more books than I know what to do with.”

“I think he’s just happy to find someone who likes reading as much as he does. Not everyone in the complex is literate and those who are don’t necessarily read for pleasure.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, Koli and I have tea time often enough but you’re fresh meat. And you’re from Terran. _And_ you were a professor in sciences that don’t often grace our complex. Oh, sorry— _are_ a professor.” He lit up with a new thought. “When you return home do you think you’d start teaching again?”

“Oh, well, maybe, but with the war…”

“Lemmie get those books for you. We can talk inside. Are you thirsty? We made a drink this morning from Regris’ limes!”

“Uh.”

Lance had made one step forward, Shiro’s books in one hand and his hand in another, and was practically yanked backwards by Shiro’s immobility. It obviously didn’t occur to him that Shiro _wouldn’t_ follow. He crashed into his chest. “ _Oof!_ Shiro?”

“I, uh. Don’t think less of me for saying this.”

“Impossible, my dude,” his brilliant smile returned. His gaze was sharp. “What’s up?”

“I’m not fond of physicians. And. Keith is in there. With a physician.”

Lance was blank for a heartbeat and turned on his heel. Shiro felt flummoxed and embarrassed in the resulting silence. Less than three minutes later Lance had a laughing Coran on his elbow escorting him to another corner of the complex, distracted from the alpha that watched them.

“Psst.”

Shiro looked away from their backs.

Keith was cajoling him forward. “You okay?”

“Are you?”

“Fine. It was just a routine checkup. I’m fine.”

Shiro bowed his head in apology. “I’m sorry. That was selfish. And irrational.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I’m fine. Are you fine?”

“Mhm.”

“Then that’s all that matters. Here.”

Shiro took the cup and drank. It was lemonade, bright and clear, and something like clove lingered at the back of his throat. It was delicious. Most of what he ate at the Marmora-de Leone complex was delicious, and often forced onto him by way of a grandmother who thought him too skinny or an uncle who thought him too sallow or Lanceria who wanted to share her candy.

Red arrived and danced between Shiro’s ankles. “Hi pretty girl.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you why Coran was here?”

“…yes…” he admitted with effort, “but you don’t have to.”

“Of course I don’t have to.” He sat in a bed of cushions around a low table. Shiro joined him by default. He was surprised to find his books within arm’s reach. “I have cysts on my ovaries.”

“That…sounds painful?”

“Not really.” A bird alight on one of the bird feeders, drawing Red’s attention. _Click ya-ya-ya_ she said. “My hormones are weird, my cycle is irregular, I have a heat maybe six times a year. It only hurts when I’m producing a clutch which is rare enough that it doesn’t really bother me.”

Shiro had a burning question.

“In case you were thinking it: yes, that makes trying for a baby a lot more challenging.” He ate a grape. “Getting pregnant in a year is unrealistic without hormones to regulate my cycle. And Lance would have to take pills too—he menstruates half as much as most omega.”

“You _both_ have hormone imbalances?”

“He likes to joke that’s what drew us together.”

Shiro was surprised when he added himself into the equation. “I…don’t really have ruts.”

Keith grinned a little. “What? Never?”

“I think I’ve had…five, I think, all my life.”

“Huh,” Keith poured more lemonade in his cup. Shiro drank. “For all he has a shitty sense of smell Lance must have a nose for these things.”

“Does this mean I have to take pills too?”

“I would argue no. Lance might argue yes, to increase virility, but alpha unlike the rest of us are fertile the entire year. The choice is ultimately yours.” He dropped several grapes in Shiro’s unsuspecting hand. He scrambled to collect them all and Keith laughed at him a little. He laughed again when Shiro threw a grape at him and it bounced square off his nose.

Lance returned and there was no hiccup in their conversation. His signals were brief and lazy—“hug? One to five?”—and at Shiro’s smiling “one” he plopped between the middle of them, head on Shiro’s lap and legs on Keith’s thigh. He looked much like Red basking on his back like that.

Shiro suffered because it felt natural. He felt at peace. With yesterday’s negotiations fresh in his mind he knew he could confide in them, he knew who they were, he knew that there was no angle and no reason to them allowing him in their intimate privacy other than simple attraction and interest.

Shiro suffered because the thought arrived that if he actively enjoyed Keith’s and Lance’s company, was that not betraying Adam? Was that not betraying _Terran,_ which even now was repulsing Voltron’s campaign? But Keith was so devoted and Lance so eager. It was so easy to like them.

“Shiro?”

“Mm?”

“You okay?”

He registered their concerned faces. “I’m okay, what does my face look like?”

“Like you were figuring out how to ask Lance for more spending money.”

Lance jumped up, “You need more money? I can get you more money.”

“ _I don’t need more money_.” He pressed at Lance’s shoulder until he reclined again. He went easily. He stroked his hair. “I have more than I know what to do with.”

“People usually use money to buy things.”

Shiro threw a grape at Keith’s forehead. Keith dodged, ate it right out of the air.

“I’d applaud you if I had two hands.”

Keith doubled over, wheezing.

“We can go to the midnight market. You haven’t been right? It’s open all night long and they have _everything._ Food, antiquities, furniture, plants, pets, toys— _sex_ toys—”

Something must have shown on Shiro’s expression because Lance burst out laughing. He felt small and squishy squirming on Shiro’s lap like that.

Keith nudged Shiro’s shoulder with his own. “There’s something else bothering you.”

It wasn’t a question.

Shiro learned then that there was no hiding from Keith’s vigilance. He admitted, “A little, yes. Uh. I’m not sure how to phrase it.”

Lance cheered, “Butcher no words!”

“When can I visit Adam?”

Pin drop silence.

Lance’s good mood flatlined and his smile didn’t fall a millimeter out of place. In a way Shiro was growing to hate Lance’s smiles. He could never tell what the omega was thinking.

Keith was equally unreadable as he turned to Lance, who sat up and on his knees. “You can go whenever you want. I’m waiting on an official invitation, it’s just more polite if they’re expecting us, but technically speaking you can go whenever you want. I can hire a coach for you. O-or show you how to do it yourself,” he tacked on the last bit with a glance in Keith’s direction.

 _He’s learning,_ Shiro felt a little swell of pride.

“If you’re waiting on an invitation I guess I’d best wait too.” He added hesitantly, “Is it selfish of me to hope you’d be there when I meet him again?”

“No.” It must be scary to reunite with someone who knew you when you were a different person.

Lance shook his head dramatically. “Not at all! It’s a privilege! It’s an honor! It’s…it’s…”

“Will you come back with us?”

_“Keith.”_

“You were thinking it.”

Lance sat back on his heels, hands clasped on his thighs. His fingers fiddled in overeagerness.

“I think so,” he could feel his blood hitting his heart. “I don’t see myself leaving the family that took me in so easily. At least not without discussing it at length first.”

Lance in brighter spirits, replied as he reached for something—Shiro found himself snapping up from the eyeful of midriff his stretch provided—“Okay, well, I’ve told you a dozen times already but you can leave whenever you want and _now…”_ and he handed over a scroll. “It’s official.”

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

He did. It was a yellow paper, something formal and fancy, the script so floral it was illegible to his eyes.

“It’s your emancipation certificate,” Lance blurted when he was quiet for too long.

“…oh.”

“I know it’s pretty shitty as far as gifts go. I mean, you’re a human being, freedom shouldn’t be awarded to you. And I’m sorry this is even a _thing—”_

Shiro put his thumb to Lance’s lips with a breathy chuckle. “It’s alright, Lance. I get it. And you’re right but I’m still grateful.” He looked down. “It’s just a morose reminder that there are a lot more innocent people that don’t have this, y’know?”

Lance held Shiro’s big hand to his cheek, eyes downturned and mood sober.

“One step at a time,” Keith shattered their melancholy. “Each day we make a little difference. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance bobbed his head. “Yeah.”

It sounded like something Keith might have told Lance a hundred times before. He could imagine Lance working thinking plotting the next move to make a better future and Keith his supportive shadow—he couldn’t help it. He fell in love with them a little.

(Just a little.)

He decided. He pulled Lance to his chest and reached for Keith when Lance was settled between his legs. Lance was startled by Shiro’s eager embrace but daren’t complain with his cheek pillowed against plush pecs.

Shiro was all muscle but the rise and fall of his body seemed custom made for them to lay on him just so, and his skin was _cool._ Cooler than the sea breeze, cooler than fresh bed linens, he offset today’s muggy temperature like he was his own climate.

Keith groaned, digging his nose into his throat and knotting their legs together. Shiro rubbed his cheek in Keith’s hair and encircled his arm around his shoulders. There was a vibration…Lance, Keith realized, so happy he was reflexively vocalizing.

“He’s going to scent you at this rate,” Keith half warned.

Shiro squeezed his shoulder in response, all nonchalant and drowsy.

-

No-one could have prepared him for how bright the midnight market was.

“It’s a very big affair. Vendors pull out all the stops to look the most appealing to customers and it’s a social occasion in and of itself so you _gotta_ dress up.”

Shiro noticed. Lance’s pants fell straight and caught at his ankles but had slits up each side all the way to his hips. Though it revealed nothing, the reality that he wore no undergarments so obviously filled Shiro with mutual arousal and dread.

Keith didn’t seem to share his pain, though he too was uniquely enticing tonight. His halter was elastic and left his back and arms and the scars on them on display. His belly was open to the elements and baggy trousers swung low on his pelvic bones. Shiro knew he had a weapon on his person but couldn’t see it. Apart from Lance’s electric blue earrings and the silver bands on each of Keith’s biceps they wore no jewelry.

Shiro was conservatively dressed in comparison, a long sleeved dark blue shirt and matching skirt that caught at his calves, but that seemed the reigning fashion for alpha tonight. It was the omega and beta who were dressed to kill. Alpha were their dismissible, submissive shadows.

“At some of the balls I attend it’s the opposite,” Lance said from where he was latched to Shiro’s right side. They had to stay close for fear of being lost in the crowd. “Alpha are the center of attention, dressed lavishly to reflect the wealth and status of their owners.”

He said it with neither praise nor derision, just a thing that was.

“Who did you carry to events like that?”

“Acxa usually. Kolivan or Keith’s mom Krolia would accompany sometimes but they’re not a fan of being ogled. I don’t blame them. Oooh look! _Puzzles!”_

“Don’t run off,” Keith growled and yanked him back.

When they were at the storefront Lance poked at all the toys and puzzle boxes like a kid in the candy store. He interacted with each with great reverence and was toggling between three before going deeper in, practically screaming at the doll sets and their articulate wrists and detailed furniture accessories…

Keith and Shiro watched him and the kids around him from a niche. He touched Keith’s shoulder. Keith faced him.

“Why is Lance always accompanied somewhere?”

“You mean aside from the fact that he’s rich?”

“Is that the only reason why he’s almost always being watched by a highly trained warrior?”

“He isn’t popular with a lot of people. He’s been attacked before.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He has burn scars on his back from a hate crime two years ago. Someone didn’t like his opinions on free education.”

Shiro grimaced. “That seems a bit much!”

Keith frowned, “No, it’s a very controversial topic. Lance says knowledge is power and the powers that be know how easy it is to lead the ignorant. Free education upsets the status quo.”

“Has anything like that happened since?”

“No. Word got around that he lives with the city’s best mercenaries. And don’t feel sorry for him: he tracked down who orchestrated the attack and we dealt with them accordingly.”

Lance bounded over to them just then. “Y’all look so serious! Not having fun? Want to go home?”

“No,” Keith kissed him. “Got what you wanted?”

He showed off his toys. Keith rotated the head of a doll. “Did you want anything?”

Keith took the bag from him and shook his head.

“You always say that.”

“Shiro,” and Shiro startled, “careful what you say around this guy. He _can_ buy the whole store if you ask him to.”

“That was one time.”

“It was enough. But you can’t say you don’t want anything either, otherwise he’ll buy you the whole store.”

_“That was one time.”_

_“It was enough.”_

Lance looped one arm around Keith’s waist. He offered his hand to Shiro who didn’t think before grasping it in his own. He chuckled, “Is there a story in there or are you two kidding?”

“Keith is extrapolating.”

“I am not.”

The midnight market was one long street of stores, eateries and performances. Lanterns or bald bulbs studded the black sky suspended from a network of wires. Every other alleyway there was the smell of weed and the call of pretty music. Shiro got a mask and candy courtesy of _Keith’s_ insistence.

Lance laughed, “And you were worried about _me?!_ Keith knows how to spoil people too!”

“Learned from the best.”

“Shiro, dance with me. Keith, hold this.”

“I’m going to eat your food.”

“No you won’t.”

Keith bared his fangs but Lance had already yanked Shiro onto a makeshift dancefloor. They were the only omega-alpha pair dancing but Shiro didn’t notice between the sensual music and Lance’s swirling spine.

Shiro squeaked, _“I can’t dance!”_

“Silly alpha: yes you can.”

“I can’t dance _well.”_

Lance laughed. “Just hold onto me and stop thinking.”

“I can’t find purchase you’re too _slippery!”_

“Sh-sh-sh,” he put his hands on Shiro’s hips. “Close your eyes and feel me. It’s how I taught Keith too. Just feel me.”

Easier said than done. Tension and furtive glances seized his groove. He was stiff and jerky and uncoordinated and unsightly and for some reason Lance kept dancing with him, dancing against him, teaching Shiro’s primal brain the contours and timing of his body. Shiro swallowed.

“If I step on your toes you have permission to kick me.”

Lance chortled. “I’ll keep that in mind!”

Lance’s infectious good mood got him out of his own head. When he felt like he was getting familiar with the catchy pops and falls of the music, Lance turned his back to Shiro and rolled his hips with sinful, enviable control. Shiro, mesmerized, bowed his head.

His panting dampened Lance’s exposed scent gland. Lance smiled, fangs dropped. He encouraged Shiro to hold him by his belly and like a puppet on a string he did. When he pressed his butt back he felt the stirrings of an erection and Lance felt _so_ proud of himself. Shiro’s skin stayed magically cool but his fingers clutched at Lance’s body with increasing need.

“You’re a fast learner.”

“Hm,” his lips grazed Lance’s gland and ear.

Lance’s omega brain paced in the backwaters of his mind: _stay stay stay mine._ He’d started scenting Shiro between one song and another. He didn’t bother stop himself when he noticed: he noticed his skin was adopting Shiro’s smoky flavor too. It felt so good to want him. It felt magical to be wanted by him.

The black stare from the crowd was Keith, glowering.

“We should probably get back to him before he pops.”

Shiro jerked upright.

“Easy,” Lance tilted his head back. The crown of his head was cradled in the hollow of Shiro’s throat. Shiro’s face was very very close and upside down. “You’re so tense. What, scared of Keith?”

“Only the healthy amount.”

“He looks scary right? He’s just hot and bothered because I’m teasing him.” He kissed his fingers and pressed them to Shiro’s jaw.

“And me,” Shiro half complained. This close Lance could see his dark eyes dilate. _Magic._

“Do you need to cool off too?”

Shiro rubbed his jaw to Lance’s hairline. “Please.”

But body didn’t move an inch. Instead he degenerated from dancing to humping.

Lance guided them out of the fray. Keith growled a little when they were reassembled.

“I love it when you’re all non-verbal and pissy,” he licked Keith’s bottom lip and winked. “Let’s find a noodle store or something, I’m famished.”

Keith hid them in a dark and narrow byway. It led to a dead end and a perilous ladder to heaven. They set up shop on a group of barrels heavy with rainwater. The revelry sounded so distant but they couldn’t have been more than thirty steps away.

“This is not a noodle store,” Lance gestured lazily.

“Shiro needs to calm down first.”

Lance looked at him. Shiro had folded his legs and had his head bowed and was scratching at his knee in a self-soothing motion. He breathed deep and had his brow pinched in focus.

“Poor thing looks tuckered out. Was I too mean?” He licked his lips. He moved his body in all the right shapes. He oozed sensual charisma. He knew what he was doing.

 _Someone needs to take you down a peg,_ Keith arched a brow at the confident stink Lance was oozing. He advanced on him.

Lance didn’t resist when his husband dragged him forward to the edge of the drum by the back of his knees. Keith stepped between them.

“What’cha up to, Yorakeith?”

Keith didn’t answer. His hands slipped to the open slits over his thighs. One by one each cold finger made contact. When Lance shifted away experimentally Keith dug his nails in just shy of painful.

To his delight, Lance obeyed, albeit with a cocky smirk. _I’m letting you do this,_ his face said.

None of that. Keith let Voice trickle into his praise: “Good boy.”

At once, his confidence faltered. Shiro glanced up.

Keith spread Lance a little wider a little wider by a paltry hold on the outside of his cold thighs. He was doing only half the work. Lance turned a deeper colour upon noticing Shiro had become their rapt audience. He grunted.

His tune changed considerably at the sharp teeth Keith nicked under Lance’s jaw.

“Mm…”

Keith felt him rumble. “Is that to your liking, my omega?”

 _My omega. My prince. My slut._ No-one mastered derision and worship like Yorakeith. Lance’s shoulders went slack. Keith’s hips rolled forward with perfect aim: an untamed firmness against Lance’s implied heat.

 _“Oh!_ But Keith,” his voice was high, “Shiro’s _watching…!”_

“Shiro can watch if he wants,” Keith glanced at him. “If he doesn’t we’ll go somewhere else to wrap this up.”

Shiro felt weak entangled in Keith’s crosshairs. He was being asked permission wasn’t he? Was it really okay? He bit his lip and felt his blood fly south. He gave Keith a single word.

Keith licked Lance’s ear. “He’s staying, Lance. He _wants_ to watch you.”

Lance whined. His hips bucked forward.

“You like that, yeah?” he grasped Lance’s chin and pressed their noses together. Lance’s eyes blinked open, bleary, drunk and uneven. “Do you like that Shiro wants to watch you?”

Lance made to duck his head again but Keith’s fingers held firm. “Look at me when I’m talking to you and answer?”

“Yes…yes, I like h-him watching…”

At that Shiro watched them a little more openly.

“Have you ever seen an omega submit before, Shiro?”

He shook his head. Did omega even know how to submit? He watched—learned—the methodical traces Keith made in the seams of Lance’s skin. How he softly suckled his pulse and how he moved to virgin skin when Lance angled his head away or towards him.

Lance leaned back a little and kept his legs open wide of his own accord. Keith rutted against him imbibing in skin and flesh…

Lance squealed like an out of tune violin.

Shiro looked over his shoulder. Lance wasn’t very loud but if anyone heard it there would be no mistake what they were up to. Weren’t they a little too exposed here? At the very thought his heart hiccupped.

 _Plap plap!_ Lance’s sandals fell to the ground. Keith lifted one leg into the air and kissed his calves to the back of his knee and then sucked on a tendon with gratuitous tongue. Lance sighed and lay back balanced only by Keith’s mercy.

Three hickies later Keith was gnawing on his thigh. Lance’s breath was quick with anticipation. He reached for Keith’s hair to force him to where he _really_ wanted him.

Keith snatched Lance’s hand out of the air and snarled. Lance hissed in response but it was weak and did nothing to upset Keith’s pace.

Shiro shifted on his perch and risked rocking for a modicum of relief.

“Hips up,” Keith commanded.

Lance signed something Shiro missed.

Keith chuckled and smacked his thigh. Lance yelped. With his jerk of surprise Keith got the leverage he wanted and yanked Lance’s pants down his hips. Shiro swallowed. Lance reared up and reached for them and Keith caught his jaw again.

“Please do not pretend to be embarrassed,” Keith requested matter-of-factly. “You’ve done worse.”

Lance looked more embarrassed at that.

 _What worse?_ Shiro wondered. Keith’s eyes were on him again. He met them.

“Would you like to come closer?”

Lance covered his face and grumbled.

Shiro left his post to stand beside him. Keith’s eyes flickered down to his tented skirt. He returned to the task of breaking Lance down, wrestling his pants up and up and up and _up_ then off.

“Hold this.”

Shiro scrambled to catch it. The fabric stank of Lance’s arousal. _Scent it,_ his lizard brain recommended. After furious deliberation, he did not.

Lance had lovely legs. Proportional, curvy, with a wonderful balance of fat and sinew, they looked good enough to eat. Clearly having the same idea, Keith suckled on his thighs until Lance’s breath leveled.

Then he held the back of Lance’s knees and forced them apart and towards Lance’s chest.

Shiro exhaled carefully. _Flexible!_ And, now, totally exposed. Before he hastily covered his groin with his hands Shiro saw _wet_ and _pink_ and busied himself with folding Lance’s pants in half against his thigh.

_“Keith!”_

He glanced at Lance’s face to check in.

Keith likewise stilled: “What. You want to stop?”

Lance bit his lips, eyes straying to Shiro.

“Do you want me to go, Lance?”

“You can stay but…” he bunched up his shoulders and tried to hide behind them. “But I’m not pretty when I’m getting my shit wrecked.”

Shiro laughed good-naturedly. He swung Lance’s pants over one shoulder and ran his fingers through Lance’s hair until he looked less distraught. Lance used one of his hands to keep Shiro’s hand there.

Keith watched them patiently. He kissed Lance’s hamstring. When it seemed as though they had nothing more to say he asked, “Can I continue?”

Lance nodded.

Keith opened his mouth and dropped his tongue. Lance swallowed. He flinched when a bead of saliva hit his hand. Keith didn’t break eye contact once during his descent. He kissed Lance’s knuckles and wove his tongue against the web of his fingers. Lance shuddered. He separated his fingers a little bit and Keith licked between them patiently.

Lance’s thighs were shaking.

Shiro asked, “Cold?”

Lance shook his head, nuzzling against his palm. Then: _“Oh!”_

Keith bent him just a little more. Lance lifted his hand to Keith’s hair—to push him back or grab him close he wasn’t sure—but in that moment Keith’s mouth fell on his sex.

Lance _melted._ His claws sunk into Shiro and Keith and he didn’t let go. His breast rose and fell like the sea batting the shore. He was arching into Keith’s tongue in a side alley where their silhouette left nothing to the imagination. His toes curled in the air and his cheeks warmed against Shiro’s hand. His lips were red where he bit them raw. When Keith teased his entrance with his fingers, Lance shook, still, obedient and expecting. When his fingers slipped in, a gorgeous wail tore out his throat.

“Yes, Keith, like that— _please!”_

Keith sucked loud and obscene. Now his pants were tented too.

Shiro didn’t understand what Lance had been concerned about. His submission was beautiful. He was unbound in every capacity but the desire to be at his husband’s mercy. Keith in turn took Lance’s deference with a respect and adoration such that even teasing Lance was laced with a heady _thank you._

Shiro scratched Lance’s hair. He whined and turned his head until he could kiss Shiro’s palm and then the space beside the scent gland on his wrist. Shiro felt _his_ spine go slack! Lance’s teeth were _nearly there_. What would being Claimed feel like…? He shouldn’t entertain the thought. He saw himself angling his gland against Lance’s lips.

Keith sprang up from his crouch and kissed Lance, breaking the magic. Shiro startled out of Lance’s hold.

“That’s all you get,” Keith growled.

Lance whined in protest.

“Shiro.” He stuck out his hand. Shiro handed over the pants and Keith took it without a word, threading Lance’s feet through. “Can you do me a favor and buy us some drinks?”

He felt like he was being dismissed. “Sure.” He caught Lance watching him as he left his immediate space. He slowed, a little ensnared. “I’ll be back.”

“Mmnm,” Lance was a puddle of hormones and adoration. He very much wanted to stay and watch Lance grow lucid.

The black in Keith’s eyes kept him moving.

(Shiro had to wait a bit before he was presentable again.)

Walking onto the street full of people was like stepping into a new world. He felt light, mind buzzing, overwarm in a place of strangers. He felt cold, and lonely, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something wrong. Finding and ordering from a teashop was a blur. It didn’t surprise him that he was totally taken off guard at the hand that seized his elbow.

He turned with a knee to the gut at the ready and—

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

His mind cleared. He gasped. _“Ulaz!”_

He embraced him. Ulaz hadn’t changed. Tall and strong, pale and surly faced, he matched Shiro’s hug and when he parted his eyes were warm.

“Why are you here? _How_ are you here? When you disappeared—”

“I was released from my duties.”

“You’re…free?”

“No. I have a master. But she is sympathetic to the Coalition’s cause and gives me free reign.”

“The Coalition…”

“We are a group protesting against the Empire and its unsustainable ways.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Shiro shook his head in disbelief. “You joined them?”

“I was always a part of them. I survived the coliseum in part because I fed them information and they in turn fed me, sometimes supplied me with tools or equipment I could never get on my own.”

“But they couldn’t get you your freedom.”

“Freedom is not easy for—”

“Hey, your drinks,” the teamaker called impatiently. Shiro gathered them with a hurried thank you.

“I can’t stay. I’m running an errand.”

“You were purchased as well?” Ulaz kept up with him. “Who?”

“A young lord—but I’m a free man in Voltron’s eyes as of this morning.”

“He purchased your freedom!” Ulaz’s eyes widened. “What is his name?”

Shiro paused. The alleyway was close and his instincts were telling him to keep Ulaz at bay. He didn’t want to tell him Lance’s name either but he trusted Ulaz’s intentions.

“Lanceria de Leon.”

Ulaz narrowed his eyes.

“Does the name mean anything to you?”

“Not to me. You’re staying with him still?”

Shiro nodded.

“Can I meet you there?”

“You can meet me anywhere, they don’t mind if I leave the compound.”

Ulaz narrowed his eyes again but now he looked dubious more than calculating. “Very well. Can you meet me at midnight in three days?”

“Yes…”

Ulaz clasped his shoulder. “I may need your help.”

“With the Coalition?”

“Perhaps. Will you at least hear what I will have to say?”

“Of course I will. You saved my life.”

Ulaz smiled, squeezed his shoulder, and in a single turn and strut he was lost to the crowd.

Shiro was in speculative spirits when he returned.

“Thank you,” it was Lance who greeted him first. He took the tray. “It was really too much for Keith to ask you to go out for this.”

“Oh, no, it was fine.”

Lance glared sharply over his shoulder.

Keith jerked. “Uh. No. Yeah. It was a little cruel of me. Sorry.”

Shiro didn’t understand. “It’s fine,” he responded honestly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes…um,” Lance made a gesture and Keith went on, “we didn’t…you didn’t feel obligated to agree to what just happened, did you?”

“No, of course not.”

Lance added, “Because it was pretty spontaneous and we’d understand if we felt like we just sprung it on y—”

Shiro put up his hand. “I wanted to be here. I enjoyed myself.”

Lance, once assertive, immediately backed away, sheepish. He caught Keith’s hand and rest the bridge of his nose against the sharp of his bare shoulder.

Keith kissed Lance’s hair and asked Shiro, “Tired yet?”

Shiro shook his head.

“Lance?”

“I wanna win a pet before we go home.”

Shiro asked, “A pet?”

Keith complained, _“No.”_

“Please Keith?”

“No.”

“It won’t be pregnant this time, I promise.”

“No.”

“ _This_ time??”


	7. Where Home Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so mad at myself. It was in this chapter that I figured out how to signify the difference between spoken language and sign language. It’s vocabulary! I knew basic ASL before writing this fic but it didn’t occur to me until this moment that what I could do was transliterate sign language such that sign has its distinct “voice”.
> 
> For example, to ask for your name in ASL it literally translates to “your name what”. So instead of me writing:  
> Keith gestured, “What’s your name?”  
> I could have written:  
> “Your name what?”  
> And then the flow and choice of words he uses when he’s speaking would change, such that the reader is always made aware of this subtle distinction.
> 
> (Vocabulary is unique to each person but I usually ignore that and write the characters voices with access to the same range of vocabulary as the narrator. I realize now what a waste that is.)  
> I am so mad I didn’t solve this earlier. Of course, I will be writing another story with another deaf character to use this technique.

Seagulls cut through the briny air. Magpies littered the gutters. A rat scurried into a hole and a monkey tilted its head from the palm tree as Shiro and Keith jogged past. Today’s path was a weed eaten cobblestone track up to the old church. It was underused and uphill.

Unbidden came the thought that they might be at this forever when the black cover of the trees didn’t abate. Perennially flushed, exerted, and with a fine view of Keith’s lithe bouncing figure ahead, Shiro didn’t mind at all. All the same, when they crested the hill he let out a subtle sigh of relief.

“Ugh!” Keith threw himself down in the grass. “I shouldn’t have eaten so much yesterday.”

Shiro chuckled. He took a look around. The grass whispered at their calves. In the cool of dawn there were little fairies dotting from blade to blade, the last glimpses of them until the next twilight. Across the clearing was the dilapidated ruins of an old church, small and stony, and in the shadows of the grove more structures were implied.

“We used to live here before Lance adopted us.”

Shiro turned to him sharply. Keith had on a vague smile as he stared upside down. He didn’t seem happy or unhappy to be here, but there was a touch of nostalgia as he continued.

“We only stayed here for five or six years I think. We were always moving otherwise. I think that’s one of the reasons why people call us dirty: because we’re always moving. We get dirt on our feet and clothes and personal effects. I guess to people who didn’t need a nomadic lifestyle we looked strange.”

Shiro frowned softly. “I never heard anyone refer to you as dirty.”

Keith snorted. “Give it time.”

Shiro looked at the church and thought of the complex. Could an entire family really live here? It was peaceful, and there was a lot of fruit trees around, and he imagined tents and outside kitchens and lines with clothes hanging from them. He imagined Ilun and Vrek as children herding squealing chickens or Acxa and Kolivan debating on the landing.

“Shiro, come here.”

“Mm?” He kneeled beside him. He missed Keith’s smirk. “What— _woah!”_

Keith grappled him and threw him over his body. The world tumbled and Shiro found himself on his back, in a bed of grass, insects’ wings catching the light and wind, and Keith’s hiccupping laughter for company.

His spine was buzzing. Whether it was from the impact or the timbre of his beta’s voice he was unsure. He turned to complain and—

Wow.

Keith’s grin was wide. His teeth were unsheathed and uneven and the most adorable thing Shiro had seen—second only, maybe, to Lance’s rare embarrassed pout. Keith’s cheeks were red and hair stuck to his forehead from perspiration and the sun rose a little bit and funneled through the trees behind him catching on air and forming an accidental halo. He fit in this strange clearing and its long long grass.

Shiro swallowed.

Shiro was familiar with the compulsion that energized him into sitting up and staring until Keith stopped laughing. It was the same elation he got when he realized for the first time a student understood material because of _his_ tutelage. That was the moment he knew he’d be a teacher forever.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Shiro smiled. His smile was a little goofy and Keith perked up and chuckled at it.

“One to five?”

Shiro stuck up one finger.

He leaned forward and Shiro anticipated a kiss. Instead their foreheads and noses rubbed. Keith could feel the rumble that Shiro swallowed and laughed, “ _You’re_ in a good mood.”

“I wonder why,” he purred.

Keith pinked a little. He’d drawn back just enough to read Shiro’s lips and eyes.

“Your laugh,” and Shiro tapped the corner of Keith’s smile, “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh like that before.”

“I laugh.”

“Not like that. Anyone would fall in love with you if you laugh like that.”

Keith pushed him, flustered, and Shiro let himself crash.

“I didn’t know you were such a charmer!”

Shiro stuck his head up. “You think I’m charming?”

“I didn’t say that, dork.”

“Aw.”

Keith shuffled to his knees. “Are you still at one?”

Shiro nodded. The next thing he knew was a weight on his chest and belly. Keith, who likely had three blades on his person and knew how to use them, felt soft and vulnerable and Shiro immediately pressed his arm to Keith’s back. He knew he was acting on an instinct to keep his beta close and protected. For a split second he contemplated that Keith, who two days ago had complained how marriage made him feel redundant, would react to being protected.

But Keith shifted and sighed and _stayed_.

 _Wsh shwu wsh swhu_ went Shiro’s hand on his back. Keith praised, “ _Mm.”_

Shiro laughed a little bit. But beside the peace and pleasant buzz of being relied on he felt himself cracking in two: what about Terran? What about _Adam?_

One hour later Shiro was trailing Keith up the stairs. Keith shot him a questioning look.

“Forgot. Books. Upstairs.”

Keith grinned, “I’m starting to think you keep doing that intentionally.”

“I don’t,” Shiro blushed and looked away. “It’s Lance’s fault, he keeps taking them from me when I visit and— _oof.”_ Keith’s shoulder was so hard. “Why did you stop?”

He grasped Shiro’s chin. “What did you say?”

“Lance offers to hold my books when I visit—”

Keith was as sharp and hard as obsidian. “Lance keeps luring you to our apartment?”

“What? Oh, no! No, that’s not how I meant it—I don’t think he’s even aware of it—”

“All the more reason to talk to him.”

“No,” Shiro grasped Keith’s wrist and waited for his edges to soften. “That’s not what I meant. He just takes the books from me to free up my hand and I forget them. He always puts the pile somewhere I can see them but _I_ forget.”

He arched a brow. “You’re sure you don’t want me to talk to him again?”

“I’m _positive._ I’m just absent minded.”

“Huh.” Keith poked at his hairline.

Shiro swiped at him—Keith dodged—and they chased one another up the stairwell. Lance was still sleeping and Keith belatedly hushed Shiro.

“I didn’t say anything.”

It was Keith who was bowed over trying to keep his energy under wraps. Behind his fangs was a sound that sounded scarily like a _giggle!_ He kept a hand on Shiro and tugged tugged tugged him away from his books and Lance’s balled up form. He tugged him to the bathroom.

“One to five?”

“One…”

Keith stepped forward and their atmosphere changed. He rolled his fingers on the bottom of Shiro’s shirt. He slipped it up a little, enough to show a sliver of skin. The whisper of their clothes was all that bounced off the tiled bathroom walls.

Shiro made no move to stop him. Was his dilated, lidded eyes mirrored in Keith’s hungry expression?

With one hand, “One to five?”

“One.”

Keith peeled his shirt over his head. Shiro’s heat and scent bloomed off his skin. He felt a little embarrassed by his smell of sweat and grass and overeager alpha, but whatever Keith’s senses were looking for from him he only seemed pleased. He dropped his forehead to Shiro’s cleavage, drinking in his scent. Shiro cupped the back of his head where his hair curled from sweat.

“You have such pretty hair.”

Keith rumbled in response to the shake of his voice. “Say something else.”

“Can you hear me?” But he couldn’t. So Shiro said, “Thank you for today. For teaching me about you.”

Keith rubbed his forehead against Shiro’s sternum.

“I like this.”

Keith dipped his nose in the film of moisture on his hot skin. “I don’t know what it is but…the hum of your voice? Like, there’s a frequency or something, I don’t have the words. From the way your skin vibrates…I can’t hear you, not really, but if I did I know I’d love your voice.”

Shiro squeezed his fingers in Keith’s nape and smiled as thanks.

Keith peered up at him. His cheek ran on Shiro’s pecs as he did so. “Umm…”

Had Shiro ever seen Keith meek? He felt his posture straighten into a dependable shape. “Yes?”

“Scale of one to five: how do you feel about taking a shower with me?”

His alpha was elated. “I get to bathe you?” He didn’t mean to sound breathless.

Keith smirked teasingly. “If you want.”

Shiro nodded.

“Yeah?”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah.”

Keith pulled away and lifted his arms. Shiro took it as an invitation to undress him. Keith’s shirt was baggy thank goodness, and Keith’s wiggling facilitated him. They were chuckling a little and bumped noses where Shiro thought a chaste kiss might fit.

And then Keith got to his knees.

Shiro jumped away.

He felt afraid but mostly he felt impulsively angry with himself at the hurt look on his beta’s face. He covered his mouth.

Keith climbed to his feet and kept his distance. “One? Two? Three?”

“Three. Stay please.”

Keith nodded and sat on the low divide between the shower and the room. He paid no special interest to Shiro, as though he were watching him from the corner of his eye. Shiro sat and listened to his thunderstorm heartbeat.

Keith could tell it would be a grey morning by the time Shiro turned to him. He ensured his smile was reassuring. “Okay now?”

“Sorry.”

Keith shook his head. “I understand. Want to stop?”

Shiro blushed. “No.”

Smiling, he outstretched his hands. _Come hither,_ he gestured, and Shiro wormed into his embrace. Keith wove his legs over Shiro’s thighs and watched Shiro for a negative reaction but he came forward and nuzzled his neck.

Sure that Keith wouldn’t hear him Shiro murmured his apologies again, feeling dumb and pathetic. Keith scented him and rubbed his back in abundant acceptance. Their skin had cooled in their time apart. Shiro kissed the crook of Keith’s neck.

Keith’s rubbing slowed but didn’t stop. He tilted his head to the side to grant more access—it was subtle and hesitant but it was an obvious gesture of deference and trust. Shiro licked the crease beside his scent gland.

Keith whimpered. His hold tightened. Shiro felt important and responsible and remembering Keith’s words let Voice drift into his assurances: “I have you. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Keith practically melted against his arm even as his arms and legs coiled firmer around Shiro’s torso.

Shiro was scratching his incisors shy of Keith’s gland then his sharp teeth detracted. Keith’s shiver was different when he touched _them_ to the gland. He suckled softly. His left hand made soothing circles on Keith’s lower back. Keith was humming, prone to instruction and at Shiro’s mercy. Shiro found it as flattering and he did anxiety inducing.

What if he made a mistake? Would his beta reject him?

(When did he start thinking of Keith as _his_ beta?)

Keith drew back a little and Shiro let go with a pop.

“What are your hard limits?”

“My…my what?”

“As in…what do you absolutely not want me to do?”

“Is this a sex thing?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Um…don’t,” he looked away and at Keith. “What are yours?”

“For now, no Marking, no biting, no hitting.”

He frowned. “Why would I hurt you?”

“Some people like that.”

Shiro blinked. “Is…? Does _Lance…?”_

“Sometimes,” Keith answered wistfully. “Sometimes I do too.”

“ _Oh_.”

“I think…do you not want me to go down on you?”

Shiro felt ashamed.

Keith cradled his jaw. “If that’s your preference that’s _fine._ Okay?”

He nodded.

“Is that your preference?”

Hesitantly, he nodded.

“How do you feel about hand jobs? Or rimming?”

“I’d rather,” Shiro interrupted, “I’d rather please you. Can I do that?”

“You can but…it’s not fair.”

“Even if that’s what I want?”

“If that’s what you want I can’t fight you on it, but for the record I’m not a passive lover.”

“Duly noted,” Shiro kissed his cheek. “Can I wash your hair?”

Keith rolled his eyes and chuckled and clumsily untangled their limbs. “Of course, alpha.” He offered a hand to pull Shiro up. His bicep flexed, he didn’t lose his balance, and Shiro flew for a moment.

(Shiro salivated just a bit.)

The pressure was strong and the water was cold. He hissed when the spray pelted his back and Keith laughed at him, rubbing his arm and side but it did nothing to warm him.

He didn’t make as big a deal out of Shiro’s nudity as Lance had. Shiro asked him about that as they sat on stools facing each other, scrubbing soap into one another’s hairy shins and thighs.

“I dunno…he’s naked when he brokers deals at the bathhouse.”

Shiro remembered that detail. A new envy saturated the memory now.

“Maybe it’s because you’re alpha? Alpha bodies are sexualized in this city. Like a _lot_. That’s probably why he’s skittish. He’s going against years of conditioning that says alpha bodies are consumable by virtue of existing.”

Oh. “Does he find alpha bodies repulsive?”

Keith chortled, “ _Fuck_ no, have you _met_ Lance? Sex and gender mean nothing to him. The only thing that stops him from flirting with my mother or Kolivan is when either Acxa or I glare at him.” He grumbled, “And sometimes not even then.”

Shiro shifted closer to wash under Keith’s knee. His eyes caught on Keith’s groin. His hair was lush and he could see a peek of labia. “What about me?”

Keith smiled. The cold made his lips red and with his hair slicked back his eyes felt bigger and more foreboding. “Are you interested in having sex with Lance?”

“Is that wrong?”

“No.” His smile gave way to a frown. “Why would that be wrong?”

Shiro ducked his head. Keith looped his finger under Shiro’s chin and tilted his face up. “Talk to me.”

“Yesterday, you asked me to leave. I thought it was because you didn’t want me near Lance.”

Shiro was hoping Keith would look confused and deny it. Instead he looked troubled. “I did do that.”

Shiro, stunned and pensive, scrubbed Keith’s other thigh.

“It’s because I thought he was going to Mark you. Come closer.” Shiro shifted closer. Keith took the sponge to his chest. “Counterproductive to Mark you after going through the trouble of buying you your freedom, isn’t it?”

“Do you want me to stay away from him?”

“ _No._ No. I just want you to be careful. A Bondmark isn’t easy to get rid of. It changes you permanently whether you get rid of the Mark or not.”

“Is that why you and Lance aren’t Bonded?”

Keith growled a little. Shiro watched him measuredly.

“Have _you_ ever Bonded?”

“Once, yes.”

Keith was surprised.

“I was sixteen, I thought we were in love and he broke my heart.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. These things happen. And yes you’re right that that experience changed who I am but you could say the same of an education. Or meeting the right stranger at the right time. Lots of things change our lives all the time.”

“So what, you think I should Bondmark him?”

“I’m not telling you what to do.” And he smiled.

Keith squashed the sponge to his cheek. Shiro chuckled. Keith held the back of Shiro’s neck and brought their foreheads together. “You’re easy to talk to,” Keith murmured.

A hush fell over Shiro’s spirit. He agreed, and he tilted his jaw forward and their lips met at last. Keith flinched but didn’t move away. He blended into Shiro’s motions easily, following his lead, mouthing at his lips. His other hand snaked across Shiro’s back. Shiro pulled at Keith’s hip and he needn’t be told twice: he straddled Shiro’s wide open lap.

Keith’s throat rumbled on instinct. Shiro felt his lizard brain keening at the sound. Where their skin met soap paved the way for their fluid movements. Keith rolled his hips in a little circle and Shiro felt himself getting hard.

Keith broke away to kiss Shiro’s gland.

 _“Ah!”_ He blushed and covered his mouth.

Keith chuckled and licked his ear. “Did you like that, my alpha?”

 _My alpha._ He shuddered. “M-maybe we should rinse off— _mn!”_

Keith wasn’t listening. He was running his tongue through the curves of Shiro’s ear.

He sighed, “Keith…” and shivered.

“Can I try…”

Shiro paid closer attention to whatever he might say next. It came in the form of Keith dragging Shiro’s hand from his back, to his hip, to his belly, and then down.

_“Oh.”_

“Pull away if you don’t want to.”

Shiro didn’t pull away.

“Be gentle, okay?”

“I promise,” Shiro nodded.

Between Keith’s legs were labia and a vagina as omega have, but where his urethra would be was a turgid and spongey nub. That was the head of his unfurled cock. With his middle finger and experimental pressure he teased that spot in a tight circular motion. He wasn’t sure if it would work—

Keith gasped and held onto Shiro’s shoulders. “ _Yes,”_ he shivered. His voice was thick with a secondary rumble, each word was tremulous: he was more than receptive of Shiro’s actions.

Keith met his eyes in time for Shiro to mention he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing.

“Keep playing. I’ll tell you if you should do something else. Press a little harder plea—yes. _Yes.”_

Keith squashed their faces together in a sloppy kiss. His vocalizations increased in frequency and volume as Shiro stroked, pressed and flicked and then the nub grew a little larger, then his cock came free. Long and slender, bright pink and glossy, it was wide and its base and had pretty veins.

Shiro had the compulsion to put it in his mouth. “Can I suck on it?”

Keith bit his lip. He was all pink and splotchy now. “You’re gonna spoil me.”

“That’s not a no. Stand?”

Keith stood. Shiro cornered him against the wall and Keith went willingly. Shiro sunk to his knees and Keith’s hands went to the top of his head, patting.

Then Shiro began. Keith shrieked behind his mouth. Shiro might later admit he went a little fast and wild in the beginning because being responsible for Keith’s fall from grace bolstered his ego like nothing else. Usually quiet, composed and spooky, Keith now was little more than fireworks for nerves and ecstasy for blood.

 _I did that. Me._ Shiro tongued the slit at the narrow head of his cock.

Keith’s fingers curled into his hair. “Shiro _Shiro!_ Fuck—I’m not going to…!”

Shiro pulled off slowly and Keith’s shoulders fell in a heap. He breathed deep. Shiro sat on his heels and ran his own cock in his hand while he waited for Keith’s next okay. He could also smell Keith’s slick wetting his thighs. Would Keith allow Shiro to finger him?

“Thank you,” Keith tilted his head up and kissed him. Shiro moaned. “Scale of one to five: if I asked you to come inside me…”

Shiro closed his eyes, tightened his hold on his cock and sunk his teeth in his bottom lip to keep his arousal in check. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Keith’s lower belly, lining his lips up with the pubic hair at the base of Keith’s cock.

Keith chuckled and scratched his hair. “Is that a good reaction? I can’t tell.”

“Good,” Shiro stuck his thump up. “I want to.”

“Drag a stool over here.”

Shiro did so.

“Sit.”

Shiro did so, and Keith straddled him again. He looked in Shiro’s face as he lined himself up. “All good?”

Shiro nodded. His heart hurt. The bathroom was a little brighter with the break of a new day. Keith rolled his hips back and Shiro felt his skin give…like one moment there was a barrier the next Keith’s body turned pliant and sucked him in and in and _in…!_

They moaned at almost the same time, Keith louder than Shiro’s half whimper. Keith’s body was hot and gooey and slippery and there was pressure coming in from all directions. He held Keith close to ground himself.

“I’m going to start now.”

Start?

Keith bounced. He rolled his hips and dropped his butt. All at once came the memory of Lance’s sensual dance under the lights of the night market. Instead of music was a _clap!_ each time Keith’s body fell into Shiro’s, and his guileless groaning and hissing as pleasure crested.

Shiro held Keith close and steady and ached to sink his teeth into his skin. He could hear himself moaning too. He felt Keith’s cock, weeping and abandoned, rubbing against his soap slick belly. He widened his stance and, as Keith let himself fall, Shiro thrust up.

It was a shallow buck but it produced Keith’s loudest squeal yet. His back arched and Shiro lost his balance on the stool. They toppled to the shower floor.

Gratefully it was a short fall.

“I’m sorry,” Keith panted. His skin was hot hot hot hot where he checked the back of Shiro’s head for blood. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I didn’t hit anything.” He throbbed inside Keith. “I wouldn’t say no to a kiss for my bruised ego though.”

Keith’s expression shifted from concerned to lecherous. What amazing range. As they kissed, Shiro flat on his back, Keith slowly started his bouncing again. This time when Shiro held his hip and joined him Keith warbled with pleasure and kept singing.

His hair flopped into his face. His dark eyes teetered between worlds. Shiro drank in the delicious mathematics of Keith’s taut body. When he was balanced, he grasped Keith’s cock. Keith covered his mouth but the shriek came out anyway and he came, clear liquid splashing over Shiro’s chest and face.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Sh, come here.”

Keith fell into his embrace. The soap felt weird now where it blended with the smell of sex. All the same Keith couldn’t remember a time he was more comfortable. “Don’t pull out.”

Shiro nodded. He held Keith for as long as he could but when the urge to rock into his body won him over he didn’t stop himself.

His movement was languid and Keith did not complain. So he did it again. And again. Keith arched his back and sighed. It was common sense, then, to fuck him.

His body was relaxed in the wake of his orgasm. His channel made those lovely obscene noises that seemed to embarrass Keith and embolden Shiro. Everything about his posture and voice and temperature and smell reeked with interest and contentment and Shiro couldn’t get enough of the glaring truth that Keith wanted him.

On a visceral level Keith wanted him! He wanted him while he was a little less of the man he used to be, while he sported unseen scars, while he was recovering, through all this his beta _desired him._ Shiro gasped and felt something building. Something more than his climax. He wanted to do something for his beta. He would give him the world. He would give him anything.

His nails sunk into his pecs. “Give me your knot, alpha, _please!”_

Holy shit.

Between Keith’s command and his slick and Shiro’s incapacity to refuse his lover his knot slid home, stretching Keith’s entrance and— _Ancients,_ Keith cried so wonderfully, so wantonly. Then they were trembling.

Each pulse of…what, energy? It rolled up their bones to their spines and brains and made them stupid. They were pawing at each other and kissing madly enough to draw little nicks of blood. It didn’t occur to either of them that they were getting cold or uncomfortable.

“I can feel your heartbeat.” He clenched around Shiro’s still throbbing cock.

Shiro groaned.

“Stay with me, old man.”

Shiro chuckled and yanked on a lock of raven hair.

“Ow.”

Shiro licked his cheek until Keith faced him. “Thank you, Keith. You’re beautiful.”

Keith hiccupped, blank faced, and then turned his red face into Shiro’s flesh. He replied and Shiro didn’t hear it but he got the gist. Against his better judgement he sucked on Keith’s gland, sharp teeth threatening it all the while.

Keith, curiously, never pulled away.

-

“What’s going on?”

“Attempted bombing at the coliseum.”

“ _What?!”_

“The structure is still standing but events have been postponed.” He clicked his tongue. “But what did the authorities expect when they let those Coalition extremists run loose in the city?!”

“It’s every citizen’s right to peacefully protest. Was it proven that the Coalition did it?”

The stranger gave Lance the side-eye. “You’re one of them apologists aren’t you.”

Regris dropped his hood and made eye contact. Even with just his glare and his scars to arm him the stranger was disgruntled. Lance smiled, thanked the gentleman for his time and returned his attentions to the public clock.

A glint of fang from Regris punctuated Lance’s politeness as dismissal. The stranger was off in a clamor and several bothered backward glances.

“I never pegged the Coalition to be the sort to turn to domestic terrorism.”

“Are you really that surprised, little prince? That man might have thought that the police were ignoring them, but even their peaceful protests were broken up quickly and aggressively. Their voice was being suppressed from the beginning.”

“I know. I guess…I’m disappointed, not surprised. I thought they were making real headway by proving that change doesn’t go hand in hand with violence. But with the way Voltron’s leaders reacted…” he sighed. “I’m tired, Regris.”

“I don’t blame you. Yorakeith and Takashi were rather loud this morning.”

Lance grinned, “You heard them too?”

“I’m sure our entire floor did. Most of us were already awake and their sounds were…unmistakable.” He paused.

“Ha. Poor Keith.”

“No wonder Shiro was still sleeping when we left.”

Lance chortled. He yawned.

“Do you wish to borrow my shoulder, little prince?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not often I get to visit the station. It’s kinda novel.”

The station was a structure of wood and glass. The floor was tile. It was a handsome institution but it was moderately sized. Lance and Regris were waiting outside beneath a white lacey parasol.

Then Kinkade arrived.

The sun painted his skin in glory. His big arms were bare and his mustard skirt flounced off each curve in his thighs and knees. “Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, pretty.” He inclined his head to Regris. “Good morning to you.”

Neutrally, “Good morning.”

Kinkade sat beside Lance. “Did you hear what happened this morning?”

“Do you remember what I promised you if you got on my bad side?”

Kinkade had the gall to look stunned.

“Is betraying my confidence such an everyday occurrence for you that you can’t place why I’m upset?”

“Lanceria, love, I’m an _informant._ It’s on _you_ what to tell me and what not to tell me, you should know that more than anyone.”

“Forgive me, I assumed our friendship meant a free pass.”

“And it does! I could have sold information about your alpha to Haggar. Instead I sold it to your mothers.”

“You’re a _snake.”_

“I did you a favor.”

“You don’t know what you did. You don’t know how I operate. You don’t know what I’m planning and as much as you like to say you do you don’t know _me._ All this time I thought of you as my rival. I never thought you considered me your enemy.”

“Did you not hear what I said? I sold that information to your _mothers._ If Haggar got wind that you freed the king’s Champion do you know what she would do to you?”

“Why would the king’s advisor care?”

“Aside from the fact that his freedom might be the reason the Coalition has jumped from peaceful protest to _fucking bombs?”_

“There’s no correlation.”

“ _That doesn’t matter._ The leaders that be are looking for someone to blame. Your mothers thanks to my warning buried your paper trail!”

“ _What_ paper trail?”

“Does a certain warden come to mind? Ah, I see he does. Gold didn’t make him as tight lipped as you think.”

Lance flushed in anger and embarrassment. “So I suppose I’m to thank you.”

“I’d settle for you to stop jumping to conclusions in the future.” He produced an envelope.

“You’re a snake and I hate you.” Lance snatched the envelope from him. “What’s this.”

“An official invitation from Curtis Kinkade to one Lanceria de Leon-Marmora plus two. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Ryan.” He handed it to Regris, who tucked it into his vest. “And I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”

Kinkade was a little less defensive in the wake of Lance’s rare vulnerability. “I keep saying that you and I would make a good team. You get into the nooks and crannies I can’t and I can watch your back. But you’re always so skittish around me.”

“Because you always seem to be prepared to steal me away from my husband.”

Kinkade grinned broad and proud. “Guilty.”

Lance punched him even as he laughed. “You’re _awful.”_

Kinkade laughed with him and then leaned forward. Lance stayed still and let himself be kissed. “Will I see you at the Griffins’ debut?”

“Who do you think I am?”

Kinkade pecked his cheek. “Bye, Lancey.”

“Later, Ryan. And…thank you.”

“What are friends for, right?”

Lance was still smiling as he vanished into the crowd.

Regris grumbled, “I don’t like him.”

“Everyone who has a crush on me says that.”

Regris said nothing.

-

“It’s so hot today.”

“There’s probably a storm brewing. Good thing we’re travelling by trolley.”

Shiro had his hair up in a bun and his head out of the window watching the yellow fields roll by. This trolley only had three carriages and they were travelling in the car without the servants commuting to the plantations with their chickens. They were going at a fair clip, a horse at canter perhaps.

Keith was leaning on Shiro’s bicep. Lance was facing them, lost in thought. They glowed in their honeymoon phase. Lance was relieved and giddy to see them close, but he couldn’t rationalize away a lingering loneliness.

Keith toed his knee and Lance started. “Mm?”

“You okay?” he mouthed.

“I must apologize to my parents. Not looking forward (to it).”

“About the fight days ago?”

Lance nodded.

“Regris said you cut into Ryan.”

“Yes. I was wrong. Things are changing. I’m thinking.”

Keith’s toe traced a line up and down Lance’s exposed calf.

Lance’s eyes narrowed. Sharply, “Stop.”

Aloud, “But I love you.”

Shiro turned just in time to catch Lance fold his smile behind his hands and smack his bare feet on Keith’s knees.

“Ow. Ouch! Ow!”

“Ha. You guys are cute.”

Lance bemoaned, _“Stoooooop…!”_

“Also I need you to explain something to me.”

“Huh? Whay?”

“I thought that the Altean Empire was made up of isolated pocket of urban settlements. Does Curtis Kinkade live in a totally different city state or…?”

Lance shook his head. “There are provincial settlements to each city-state. _Rural communities,_ you might call them. They pop up around the estates of lords who import their food and laborers and it kinda grows from there.”

Shiro recalled Sendak’s property, isolated from the rest of the world with a lonely low wall at its perimeter.

Lance continued, “Voltron has a lot of rural settlements but almost all of them are cut off from one another by jungle. It’s a totally different terrain from the city.”

Keith chimed, “We’re about the visit the world of the country bumpkin, infamous for being no good in the city for more than cheap domestic labor or prostitution.”

“Unfortunately that’s true, people from rural communities get a bad rep. It’s not true that they’re stupid though, their means of education is different but that’s because they’re not being raised to live in a city, they’re being raised to live in the quasi-wilderness.”

“And the place where Kinkade is?”

“It’s one of the biggest communities on the periphery of Voltron. It used to belong to one of the old families but the Kinkades, from new money, bought them out a generation ago and then willed it away to the oldest son when he refused the role of family head.”

Shiro brightened in interest. “What does that mean?”

“Family head? It’s like a president of a family. For example my second eldest brother is going to be the next family head of the de Leon family. That means that he’s responsible for keeping the family a top dog contender in the city for as long as he ‘reigns’. In response to that responsibility the rest of us owe him our fealty and respect: if he jumps we ask how high. My eldest brother didn’t want the title because he was pregnant when he was being groomed for the role and he felt it wouldn’t be possible for him to be both the head and a father.”

Keith arched a brow, “Marco didn’t have the same problem?”

“Marco hired a maid.”

Keith scoffed.

“Functionally the Marmora family isn’t that different.”

“Yes we are.”

“Technically Kolivan is the family head.”

“Our elderly have the true power. They have the experience. If they say move we move, if they say stay we stay.”

“Kolivan makes the day to day decisions on behalf of the entire family.”

“His role is practical but we don’t all defer to him in the same way you defer to Marco.”

“Ha. I don’t defer to Marco. He can scream to high heaven all he wants or disown me, it makes no difference.”

Shiro asked why not.

“Because I’ve already made a name for myself. Everyone knows who I am and what I can do. Marco wouldn’t want to make an enemy out of me.”

Keith tossed his feet into Lance’s lap. “Has anyone told you how hot you look when you’re pretending to be scary?”

Lance smirked and winked. Then the words caught up to him. “Hey! How dare you, I am _plenty_ scary—”

“When we get off this trolley,” Shiro asked, “what happens? Will they be expecting us or…?”

“We’ll either walk or hitch a ride to their estate. They’re expecting us, but Curtis isn’t a city-boy, never was. Don’t expect a red carpet.”

Keith chuckled, “You’re worried about us? Shiro and I know what it means to sleep on the floor. I’m worried about _you.”_

“I’m not uppity.” Lance toyed with Keith’s toes. “I’ll be fine.”

Keith and Shiro shared a look.

“Yikes, are you guys telepathic now? Gross.”

“You’re just jealous.” Keith aimed his toe at Lance’s nose.

_“Ew! Gross! Keith!”_

Shiro chuckled but his mind was already far away. His heart was hammering away in his chest. At the end of his line was his husband’s smile. Maybe his husband’s grey hairs, or a soft body to match his soft voice. What had he done the last six years?

He jumped at a nudge to his knee. Lance held out a puzzle to him, the same small dice-line bone white one that Keith had produced when they were at the lounge house.

“You looked like you could use a little stimulation.”

“Oh, thank you.” He clicked at it. “How does it work?”

“I’m not telling you.”

Shiro frowned at him but already he’d leaned away and pretended to be asleep.

The next hour passed that way. Shiro listened to the heartbeat of the engine and watched yellow fields melt into barely belayed jungle. They toy clicked between his fingers. Lance dozed off and Keith, who he thought was sleeping, leaned forward to adjust his shirt and thumb drool away from the corner of his mouth.

Keith resettled into the exact same space he occupied before like he never left. Shiro found the pressure reassuring and again he was struck by how at peace he was among these two.

 _Click!_ said the puzzle.

“You solved it.” Keith sat up. “One-handed too. Ha. Shows that puzzles are just _not_ his callng.”

“I don’t think he toggles with them to solve them,” Shiro noticed a cavity inside.

“I know.”

“Can I look and see what it is?”

“Of course.”

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

He pointed. “Give me your hand.”

Keith put his palms up and Shiro shook what was in the puzzle into the whites of them. Two beads of sea glass tumbled out. Both could fit into Shiro’s thumb. Dinky as they were they glistened in the filtered sunlight through the window. Fantastically, they were the same unusual black indigo of Keith’s eyes.

“The old families have crests and specific colours associated with them. The de Leon have blue and gold. The royal family is white and gold. If the Marmora had a specific colour we’d be purple and black.”

On closer observation Shiro realized it was polished and hooks were on their ends. “Earrings.”

“He doesn’t wear purple. _I’ve_ never seen him wear purple anyway. And I thought he would after we got married. We never talked about it.”

Shiro made to usher them back into the puzzle. Keith helped him.

Shiro asked when the puzzle clicked closed, “Is there a reason you two have never talked about it?”

“It’s never really needed to come up?” Keith shrugged. “I don’t mind if Lance prefers to wear his family colours. After all he _is_ a de Leon. And nowadays we don’t wear a lot of purple clothes anyway. The dye is wicked expensive and we lost the technique that made our leather purple years ago.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Shiro almost physically ailed. As an academic, lost techniques, practices and cultures hurt him like very little else. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Keith shrugged.

“I think it’s worth bringing up with Lance though. He strikes me as both strong willed and the kind of person to enjoy being possessed.”

Keith nodded with a grin. “Alright. You have a good sense for these things so I’ll talk to him.”

“Huh? A good sense? I do?”

“Yeah, you’re pretty wise.”

“I guess so…I guess it’s by virtue of approaching forty and being a teacher.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m a teacher, remember?”

“You’re _forty?”_

-

“Oh, I have some breadfruit to send up to Mister Kinkade!” The gaunt old driver with missing teeth grinned at them. “Nice lad. If you can find space at the back of the ox cart you’re welcome to come! Ask your alpha to move some of the produce aside.”

“He’s not our—”

“It’s alright, Lance,” Shiro smiled and made space for them.

This nameless town was green and chaotic and bright. Where Voltron had its orderly chalk white buildings interspersed with colourful doors and an enclosed sewage system, this place was red dirt roads and naked children screaming after kids and chicks and ducklings, open concrete stores opened yesterday with peeling paint, fat strong women with brooms and buckets on their arms screaming their prices, horses and donkeys and cows driven through the fanfare…Lance looked overwhelmed and had been hugging himself since they set foot here.

“You’re well adjusted,” Shiro said to Keith when they were on board. Keith had taken Lance under his arm to console him. He still looked small but steady coddled against Keith’s side, and peered up and around them in reaffirmed wonder.

“I’ve been to this area before.”

“Have you been to the Kinkade estate before?”

“Uh-uh, didn’t visit any estates. It was just a recon job.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you but what is it that you do?”

“I’m a Blade.” They rocked as the wheels of the ratty ox cart rolled into a pothole.

“Sorry!” Sang the cheerful driver up front. “The government has a hard on for bad roads…”

“I’m a Blade, and I’m trained to use most weapons I might come across. Swords, guns, whips, you name it. We’re mostly approached for wet work, but we also do bodyguard jobs or steal on behalf of our clients.”

Shiro was surprised. “I thought…I thought…”

“We’re basically assassins and thieves for hire, what did you think we did?”

“I’m not sure. You just had such a beautiful family it didn’t occur to me that you did…uh…”

“Unsavory things?”

Shiro didn’t reply.

Keith’s eyes did not curve when he smiled. “I mostly do recon jobs. I’m our smallest Blade so I can get into a lot of small places to find information. I spent as long as a week following someone around to learn his schedule once. I don’t know what the client did with that information though.”

Lance replied, “I sold it to someone else who pinched a girl from his alpha harem. They were in love, apparently.”

Shiro jumped. “Lance?! You employ the Blades??”

“Of course I do,” he frowned at him, “Did you think they followed me around for _fun?_ Besides, I’m an informant and the Blades’ skills are invaluable. I still have to fucking pay though.”

Keith grinned, “You get a _huge_ discount, shut up.”

“So this…is this why you’re always saying no-one will contend with you?”

“I mean, it’s a part of it? I have friends in high places. Whatever few enemies I make or haven’t befriended yet kinda risk _my friends_ ire if they come after me.”

Keith murmured, “Which isn’t as flawless as a security as you make it sound.”

“Hm,” Lance scratched at his shoulder and Shiro wondered if he was thinking about the burns on his back. “The rest of it though is that I’m more valuable as an ally _because_ of my friends, _because_ of my network, and because I have the most sophisticated clan of trained acrobats at my back. Why pick a fight when we can break bread, y’know?”

Shiro was impressed. “I’d love to watch you work one day.”

“Really? It’s a date! I’ll hm…there’s the Griffin event but that’ll be a little heavy for a first timer…”

Their driver said from ahead, “So you folks are from Voltron, eh?”

Lance left Keith’s embrace to crawl forward and chat him up.

“Mind the yams, mind the yams!”

Keith whispered to Shiro, “Are you weirded out now?”

“No, just…impressed. And still processing.”

Keith nodded and lay back. To the background of Lance’s chatter and the steady plowing of the oxen and the grainy roll of the wheels, Shiro nearly forgot where they were and where they were going. Then the foliage broke apart and their genial guide sang, “There it is!”

The Kinkade Estate was a lonely building and ranch in a clearing of jungle ten acres wide. They could spy horses and cows from the road, a stable and a well, and from the building with two floors a handsome chimney. The chimney seemed out of place in what was basically a tropical residence. Nonetheless, the healthy plume of smoke from its top implied it saw great use.

Shiro swallowed as the house loomed bigger on their approach. There was only a flattening of dirt for road that ran from the main “road” around the front of the house.

“Yoohoo! Mister Curtis Kinkade!”

Shiro jumped.

Keith grasped his hand. Shiro met his eyes.

“Easy, Shiro,” he whispered, grasp firm. “You’re alright. And you’re not alone.”

Shiro was calm until the front door opened. Lance, by then, had hopped down from the cart. “Wow, you can’t run away from your family!”

A new voice chuckled, “Yes, I’ve been told I look everything like my father.”

“ _Same._ Lanceria de Leon. Thanks for having us.”

“Thank you for having me. It can get a little lonesome out here. Mister Ozar! Thank you for seeing them here.”

Shiro finally took the courage to look.

Curtis Kinkade was a tall omega with big arms and tired sweeping eyes. He spoke from his heart and laughed with his belly. He wore a modest vest and skirt and sandals, beige and simple, and against Lance’s practical but flashy yellow dress and mashed straw hat and glinting malachite earrings it was hard to believe they’d been cut from the same cloth once.

Curtis was pregnant.

(Hot terror broiled in his belly.)

“Shiro?” Keith kneeled beside him, not touching him. “Shiro—”

_“Takashi!”_

They all jumped.

A little boy of two careened out of the front door naked as the day he was born and dripping wet. He had black skin and black black hair that curled around his ears and forehead impishly. He giggled as he dove under Curti’s belly and held his skirts to his nose.

A new figure appeared in the doorway. “Takashi get back into the tub or so help me I will—!”

Adam. Adam stepped onto the porch. He looked so healthy. He even teetered on the side of pudgy. He didn’t get out of the past six years unscratched: he was going grey at the temples and he had burns on his left side. But he was smiling. He was happy.

“Adam.”

Adam’s eyes fell on Curtis first, then Ozar and then Lance—they whipped to Keith and then—“Takashi.”

The little kid clutching to Curtis’ skirts stomped, “Aba!”

Shiro bowed his head and sobbed. He leaned on the cart but was blind as his face twisted up into something ugly. His shirt was wet in moment and in that time Adam had made it to his side. Keith gave them room and Lance rushed to him.

Adam touched Shiro reverently. “Takashi,” he murmured in Terran, “look at you. Oh, gods you’re here. You’re really here.”

Shiro bawled and Adam gathered him into his arms and rocked them and kissed his hair and cried a little too.

Keith asked Lance, “You understand them?”

Lance looked away. “They’re saying what you might expect.”

-

Curtis and Adam also had a daughter. She was less shy and toddled up to Keith and stuck her arms in the air. Keith glanced to Curtis.

“Go ahead,” he smiled. “But don’t let her bully you, she doesn’t like using her feet.”

Keith lifted her onto his hip. “Hi.”

She grinned. She had baby fangs.

“Adam said that twins run in his family. I was shocked when I produced twins.”

Lance smiled. “What’s her name?”

“Erica. Named after my mother.”

“Do you need an extra hand in the kitchen?”

“I won’t turn away labor, thank you. If you can slice and dice the produce…”

“Consider it done.”

Keith bobbed Erica on his hip. The kitchen was wide and airy. The ceiling was black wood and the countertops dark stone. The floor was tiled yellow and the windows and doors were wide wide open. There was a dog just outside lured close by the smell of food but daren’t step inside.

 _Handsome dog,_ Keith thought.

They had a clear view of Shiro and Adam wandering the grounds. They hadn’t let go of one another since they were reunited.

Lance just finished tying on the borrowed apron and prepared his workstation. “You and I have never met but Ryan and I are good friends.”

“And I’m glad for it. He’s always had trouble forging meaningful friendships. Do you get in fights a lot?”

“Fights are our bread and butter.”

Curtis laughed. “He’s very strong-willed.”

“That’s likely why we’re such good friends.”

“It’s also why I wanted him to be the next head instead of me. He has what it takes to be the head, but me? Too soft,” he said that a little sadly. “Ryan was always our fathers’ son. I was our mother’s. You’re aware of why I was disowned?”

Lance shook his head and looked very interested.

“Adam was working on our grounds in Voltron as a laborer, an extra hand around the garden, hauling in foodstuff, you know. I’d just married an up-and-coming lieutenant. I wasn’t exactly fond of her but…arranged marriages.”

Lance nodded sympathetically.

“Adam and I were lovers in secret for a long time but I wasn’t aware I took my newlywed’s eggs. When I was found out to be pregnant, she and I were screened on account of adultery.”

Lance asked, “You can get pregnant without the beta and alpha meeting?”

“There’s no hard and fast rule saying that it _must_ be the beta’s role to take the alpha’s seed, that’s just how it’s done. But she was a virgin in that respect, and so I…” he smiled. “The family I was supposed to marry divorced me, of course. They couldn’t sully their blood with an omega who willingly lay with knot. And my family, when I refused to have an abortion, cast me away here. Only last year I was able to find and reunite with Adam. My fathers were determined to keep us apart. We’ve lived here since.”

Lance grasped Curtis’ lemon wet hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be abandoned by your family.”

“It’s not all bad!” He laughed, “Yes my fathers are happy to forget I exist but my mother sends me letters each week and my brother visits very often. Never mind I have two gorgeous children and the best husband I could ask for.”

Lance smiled weakly.

“Um-a um-a um-a um-a,” Keith was singing with Erica.

“I’d heard a lot about Takashi from Adam. I’d looked for him on Adam’s behalf but of course…without the Kinkade name I had very limited sources at my disposal. I’m really happy Takashi could be found by you. He could meet Adam again because of you.”

A little bitterly: “Are you happy even if that means that Adam will leave you?”

Curtis was surprised. “Adam won’t leave his family.”

Lance turned to him with an expression that must have conveyed doubt.

Curtis was a little firm, “He’s not some breeding stud or simply here to keep my bed warm. _He’s my partner._ And if you don’t understand that—”

“I understand. I do.”

Curtis sighed, still guarded.

“It’s just…I suppose I’m a little sad. I’ve grown fond of Shiro but there’s nothing tying him to us.”

Curtis arched a brow, “I thought he was to you and Keith was Adam was to me.”

“We’ve only known one another a few weeks so, no.”

“Oh.”

They returned to their respective duties.

“Curtis?”

“Yes, Lanceria?”

“If Shiro chooses to stay here, would that be okay? Do you need me to supplement his stay or—”

“If Takashi decides to stay here he’ll be _family_. You don’t have to worry about compensating us.”

Lance nodded. “Thank you,” he smiled, his heart a blend of grief and relief.

“Of course.”

Erica sucked her thumb and rest her head on Keith’s shoulder.

-

Adam’s arm was wrapped around his middle and the sun caught on his teeth as he laughed. His lashes were still wet, and Shiro was sure his eyes were as well. He sniffed. His smell, the texture of his skin, the grooves in his body, Shiro’s instinct kept murmuring _yes yes yes yes it fit._ He knew the language of Adam’s body and Shiro’s body had missed it so much…

But they didn’t fit together was they used to. It was frustrating, but Shiro made peace with it. There was a six year gap between them, he reasoned.

Adam asked, “How did this happen?”

Shiro chuckled as Adam played with his fringe. “Stress, I suppose. I’ve been working the Coliseum for the past three years.”

Adam cooed, “Is that how you lost your arm?”

“Yes. A year ago to a hired fighter, according to Lance.”

“Lance—Lanceria. The de Leon youngest.”

Shiro nodded to the wind.

“Curtis told me that the de Leons were a…powerful and old family.”

“He’s the one who broke me out, bought my freedom and found you and Colleen.”

“Colleen! Gods, is she alright?”

“Last I heard of them she was properly reunited with the Holts. They live in Voltron now, they’re running a fairly successful eatery.”

“Fattening the populace with her garlic knots.”

“Oh, definitely.”

They laughed.

Adam held Shiro by his waist and leaned on his right shoulder a little bit. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of this smell.”

“ _My_ smell?”

“Mmm. Sunburnt mint. Summery. Alluring.”

Adam’s eyes were so fetching. Shiro felt his own teeth detract and felt his insides go gooey. “I thought of you every day I went into the arena. Every enemy I defeated…that was one step closer to my boon.”

Adam darkened. “I’m sorry that you had to kill.”

“I…rarely did. A defeat is rendering your enemy unable to counterattack.”

Adam brushed hair out of Shiro’s eyes. Shiro met his and smiled reflexively, weakly. He wanted to kiss Adam’s lingering hand, taste the inside of his wrist, but something about it felt inappropriate. _Not yet,_ a corner of his mind whispered. He wasn’t familiar with this Adam just yet. He asked, “Where were you?”

“The past three years I’ve been Kinkade property. Before that I was a civil servant. As you know they shuffled us to keep us from communicating. I couldn’t understand anyone I worked beside while I was patching roads and fixing bridges each day. The only thing we had in common was that our slave drivers spoke Altean, so I was forced to learn it. I was terrified of losing my native tongue.”

“Yes, the Altean trill has seeped into your Terran,” Shiro teased.

“Ugh, I figured.” He laughed, “The only thing that helped me hold on to as much of it as I have was remembering our old work songs.”

Shiro grinned, turned his mouth to the sky and sang. All at once the sensation of fixing the wells, the smell of drying grass, the sting of the sun on men’s backs, the pride of working as a community flooded their senses. Adam felt his cheeks and eyes burn: he puffed out his chest and harmonized with Shiro’s song of lovers in rivers, of beasts in the air, of virtue on the wind…

They sang until the clear sky turned black and a distant thunder rolled. The smell of rain reminded Shiro of Lance and he immediately guided them on the trail to return to the ranch house.

“You always had an unparalleled sense of smell.”

As he said that the first droplets came down. It was light, but Adam took off running anyway. Shiro took back thinking Adam was pudgy: he was fit! Virtue of working the farm most likely. Shiro caught up to him the same time he ducked into the stable but by then the rain had turned cold and soaked through their clothes.

“I’m an idiot for chasing you!”

“Alpha instinct,” Adam peeled out of his shirt and wrung it dry. “I think Slav had presented a theory that alpha were predisposed to hunt, an instinctual override that’s companion to the fight-or-flight…”

Shiro’s breathing was closer. “You still take Professor Slav’s theories to heart.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Adam was hushed and still. Shiro stepped into his space and ran the back of his fingers under Adam’s jaw. “Professor Slav was a genius.”

 _Not yet not yet not yet not yet not yet—_ he sighed. Adam was so beautiful in his familiarity. Shiro touched him and he touched the first time they met and the first time they shared a bed.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me, Takashi?”

He started internally. “But Curtis…”

“I love Curtis. I love you too. I’ve missed you.”

“ _Gods,_ I’ve missed you.”

Shiro curled his fingers into Shiro’s collar, tugged him forward, and enclosed his mouth over his.

When they made it to the kitchen drenched to the bone, Shiro noticed a dog under the dinner table whose tail lazily wagged upon being noticed.

“Hello there.”

“Star must have run him out again,” Adam chuckled. “He’s usually always by her side. The pups must have made her irritable.”

“Pups?”

“One of our dogs gave birth recently. Two week olds.” Curtis smiled. His round belly came into the light before the rest of him did. “The two of you looked like you had fun.”

A pang of guilt and embarrassment flushed Shiro’s cheeks.

Adam only grinned and kissed the corner of Curtis’ mouth. Shiro looked away. Adam asked, “I’m sorry I abandoned you today.”

“Don’t be. Takashi finished his bath finally and Keith was a natural at putting them to bed. Lance helped with dinner as well,” he laughed a little bit, “between you and me, it was more than clear he never stepped in a kitchen before in his life. But for someone unfamiliar with a knife he worked very well.”

Shiro thought distractedly that a man who lived with a mercenary guild couldn’t be unfamiliar with a knife.

Curtis turned to Shiro and handed him a towel.

“You named your son after me?”

Curtis lifted the towel and on Shiro’s nod pat his hair and shoulders dry. “Do you object?”

“No! No, I’m honored.”

“It’ll be a little confusing with the both of you around.”

“Both of us…?”

Curtis dressed back, “It’s an option, of course. Whether or not you decide to stay with us here. I understand that you have been living with Keith’s and Lanceria’s family until now but that was a temporary arrangement, yes?”

He dropped his head and made eye contact with the old boy under the table again, who lazily wagged his tail. “Uh…yes, that’s right.”

“There’s a place for you here. If you want it.”

“Thank you.”

Adam read Shiro’s sober mood. “Curtis, thank you. You’ll be going to bed now?”

“I’ll be waiting for you to help me,” and he rubbed his belly.

“I’ll bring the cocoa butter up in a bit. I’m just going to help Shiro get settled. The others are in the guest bedroom already?”

“Retired early. Keith wasn’t feeling well.”

Shiro frowned, “What was wrong with him?”

“He described it as nausea. Lance was tending to him.”

“Thank you.”

Curtis smiled and offered his cheek for another kiss. To Shiro he wished a good night.

“Good night.” He sat at the dinner table. The old boy didn’t move even if Shiro’s cold toes touched to his warm fur.

“Dinner looks amazing oh— _pfft,_ I see what Curtis meant.”

Shiro looked into the pot. Of different shapes and sizes carrots and potatoes sat. It looked as delicious as it looked awkward. He smiled a little.

“Will you be eating?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll dish out for us.”

“Thanks.” Adam squeezed his shoulder as he passed. The rain continued. He couldn’t remember why he was anxious until he remembered the last time it rained Lance had been thoroughly vexed. “I hope we didn’t put you out too much by staying the night.”

“Nah, we figured that would happen and we prepared the rooms in advance. Tomorrow morning it’ll be bright and hot again and the roads will have hardened enough we can get you back into town within the hour. Here.”

“Thanks.”

“So, tell me more about Lanceria and Keith.”

“Oh,” he toyed with his food. “I haven’t known them very long but as far as old families go they’re the most unconventional I’ve ever seen. Keith’s family is Marmora, descendants of the people of Daibazaal who apparently rebelled against Voltron some centuries ago.”

“I’ve heard of them, there are a few around here.”

“Are they discriminated against here too?”

“Not that I’ve seen. The beta-parent to our third kid is Marmora.”

“What? Then—where are they, they’re not here today?”

“She doesn’t live with us. She’s a mutual friend but she prefers her isolation. She agreed to help us with our second pregnancy is all.”

“Oh. I…see.”

Adam ushered him to a cup of coconut water. “You mentioned that the omega, Lanceria, broke you out and gave you your freedom.”

“He did.”

“What was the catch?”

Shiro felt defensive. “Was there a catch why Curtis got you out?”

“We’re together. We’d been together for a long time. What was his excuse?”

“Nothing,” he lied. He admitted, “I’m allowed to go no strings attached.”

“ _Are_ there no strings attached?”

“Speak plainly.”

“It simply strikes me as odd that you’re protective of him. You’re wearing the same face from when you had that special needs student in your class and you couldn’t get her parents to see reason.”

The very memory put Shiro on edge.

“There it is.”

Shiro ate and his appetite bloomed to the surface. “I’m just not really fond of people talking about Lance assuming he’s a certain way because he happens to be omega. That’s all.”

“Oh, you like him.”

“Is that so strange? I knew I liked you ever since the day we met.”

“And is that what happened with Lanceria?”

Shiro recalled the way Lance shut down the gossips at the bath house and squashed his nostalgic smile a second too late.

“What about the other one? The spooky one?”

Shiro chuckled, “Both you and Pidge called Keith spooky. Why?”

“He’s too…observant. And he doesn’t speak. At least I haven’t noticed him speak.”

“He’s deaf, he reads lips.”

“ _Ah._ Wait—Lanceria, an heir to old money, married a disabled minority? He _is_ different!”

“You’ve met a lot of omega over the years?”

“Hard not to. While I attended to the Kinkade family I was a server at their parties. Eavesdropping on the well to do and their ilk was sorta impossible. It was easy to think poorly of them after that.”

“I was a personal attendant to a man named Sendak for a long time. He later sold me to the arena but while I watched him work I came to the conclusion that omega are petty children with a lot of money at their disposal.”

“That’s how Voltron sucks you in, don’t you think? It breeds your contempt for other brands of people and that’s how the city controls control you, keeps you down.”

“Huh.”

“We got lucky. We got to meet the black sheep of the bunch.”

“Ha. Yeah.”

Adam reached across the table and clasped their hands. Shiro started. “Takashi, answer me honestly. Do you see a life for yourself here?”

Shiro wondered. A lifetime of peace, of raising cattle, of raising kids, of facing the worst in the occasional tropical storm or drought. It was a little wild out here but Voltron had its own flavor of wild too. “I’ve always been more of an academic than a worker, you know that.”

“Yes.” Adam made a wry and disappointed face. “I suppose Lanceria could grant you more access to schools and books than Curtis ever could. Heck, you could be a teacher again.”

“I actually had an eye on returning home.”

“What? But Terran is now a war zone…”

“So what? It’s our _home._ Don’t you think we owe the people who are still fighting there some fealty?”

Adam pulled away.

“Running away to a ranch is just turning a blind eye to—”

“I didn’t ask for a lecture, Takashi. And I’m surprised that after everything you had to survive these past few years you’re eager to run back into combat.”

“That’s not—”

“Aren’t you _tired_ of fighting?”

Shiro stared at him. “So you’re just…giving up? On our home?”

“I have a home.” He stood, bowl and all. “Curtis is waiting for me. Good night.”

Shiro sat, stunned, a little cold. He huffed, “Night, Adam.”

In the cold wake of his absence Shiro lost all his appetite and offered it to the old boy who was all too happy to wolf it down.

-

Keith was pre-heat.

His skin stung at the touch. He sat in the open window completely nude, Lance at his back weaving his hair into a tight plaited bun. The rain went pitter patter on the roof and the wind was saturated with cool: the shutter over the window kept the worst of the spray off them. The only light came from a solitary lantern on the floor beside the mussed mattress.

When Lance was done with his hair, he kissed Keith’s nape square between his two enflamed glands and far enough away from either that Keith didn’t start badly.

He turned a little and signed thank you.

Lance kissed his shoulder and begged him to turn around. Keith did, defaulting to straddling the sill. When Lance leaned forward for a kiss Keith met him halfway. Keith’s mouth was wetter and softer than usual. It was an open invitation. Lance kissed the corner of his mouth then the hollow just beneath his jaw, and then mouthed at the cords of his neck.

Keith leaned back to grant him access and panted. His throat vibrated with a guttural version of a purr. It canted off into a whine as Lance sucked sweat off his clavicle.

Keith carefully pried him off. He threatened with a handsome snarl, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Lance, hungry, nodded helplessly. “Let me help you, my beta.”

Keith’s eyes went blacker if that were possible. “Do you want me?”

“I want you.”

Keith placed his hand over Lance’s throat. “Please say it again?”

“I want you, my beta. I love you. I want to please you. I want you in me. What do you want to hear? What do you want from me? It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“ _Ancientssss,”_ Keith’s cock unfurled. It was beautiful, hard pink and glossy in the dim light. Keith whined, “ _I can hear it._ You want me.”

Lance pulled Keith’s other hand to his mouth and lead his fingers to his dripping fangs.

_“Lance!”_

“Come with me,” Lance left the window sill and pulled off his borrowed nightgown in one fluid backflip. His show of athleticism did everything to make Keith’s heart pound harder and he knew it. Yet, when Keith pounced on him, he was gentle.

Keith’s favored position while his brain was in his cock was missionary. He usually relied on scent and touch to read Lance’s mood, but when he was falling into heat he claimed he also needed to see Lance’s face to be sure.

“I don’t want to hurt you, even by accident,” he’d admitted once. He’d been so skittish during their first shared heat.

Lance tonight spread his legs and lift his hips and left his naked shoulder within easy access. Keith crowded him against the hard mattress carefully. The more he fell into Lance’s embrace the less tense he grew. Lance’s long legs wrapped around his middle and his long arms over one shoulder and between them.

Keith flinched when Lance led his erected to his folds.

“Shouldn’t I warm you up first?”

Lance grinned brilliantly at him and made sure Keith saw it, even if they were so close together their noses bumped and lip reading was a trial. “You’re such a romantic.”

Keith flushed darker. “I want you to feel good.”

“I feel great. Just use me, my beta. Do whatever you want with me.”

Keith whined and edged himself into Lance’s entrance. He ducked his head to Lance’s gland and the smell of rain that was sweeter than the storm outside. “Okay…” he worked his cock in.

He was gentle, but he was also wild. He hugged Lance and kissed his throat and nuzzled his hair and made Lance giggle. He thrust deep and squeezed and clawed and made Lance moan. The sheets were damp within a moment but Keith felt cooler almost immediately.

“Love you,” he mumbled helplessly, and Lance’s scent bloomed bright in reply.

They had to be quiet though. They were guests here. As much as Lance wanted to scream to high heaven he was disallowed. He held his mouth and his eyes got rheumy from the strain. Keith licked his cheeks.

“You okay?”

Lance nodded.

Keith ducked his head in Lance’s throat and sucked, now plowing a little deeper and harder. He _loved_ Lance’s reflex to grab his ass in reply. It was like Lance was yanking him in and pulling him ever closer, consuming him alive.

(The concept of Lance eating him alive in this fashion aroused him more than he was willing to admit.)

Keith’s arms were beneath Lance’s body now, holding him vaguely aloft. He felt his body going faster and—

_Tap tap tap tap._

Slow but urgent taps on his shoulders brought him back to reality. He stopped, felt Lance’s heartbeat on his cock, and pulled back to check his face. “Did I hurt you?”

His brow was pinched and his eyes were closed.

“Did I…?”

Lance shook his head and pressed his belly, right above where his womb would be.

Keith leaned back and stroked his cheek. “Should I pull out?”

Lance’s eyes looked wetter.

“Lance?” Keith cradled his face, “ _Lance?”_

He brought his hands up as he cried. “I’m sorry. I asked you to give me all of you and I couldn’t take it.”

“Lance, no no no no…”

“I’m a bad omega.”

“ _No. No.”_ He held his face firmly. “You’re _not._ You’re a _brilliant_ omega. The best the world has ever known. And you’ve given me so much Lance, you’re so good. _So_ good. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“But I _want_ to! I just _can’t!”_

“Okay, you’re body’s talking to you right now. Okay? Your body’s talking to you. Let’s listen to it, okay?”

“But I want to help you.”

“You’ll help me by letting me look after you, okay? That’s part of my beta instincts too. That’s more important than getting off. Okay?”

Lance solemnly nodded. Keith kissed him tenderly.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

Lance nodded. He winced when Keith pulled out completely, and curled into his chest when they were facing one another. “I’m sorry.”

Keith kissed his hair and rubbed his back. “Thank you for telling me. I would have hated to hurt you. Thank you for telling me.”

Lance nodded.

“Are you thirsty?”

Lance shook his head.

“Drink a little anyway? Please?”

Lance turned and accepted the cup, then curled into Keith’s chest again. It was like this that Shiro found them.

Shiro knocked before he opened the door, but Lance didn’t answer and Keith didn’t hear. He entered assuming they were asleep. He was surprised when two pairs of pretty, bloodshot eyes peered at him from under a blanket smelling of pretty pheromones.

He paused.

“Would you like to sleep with us?” Keith asked.

Shiro, a little heartbroken and needy, liked the sound of that more than anything. But their odd, curled postures belayed him. “Am I interrupting?”

“We were uh, fooling around but I hurt Lance a bit so we’ve stopped now.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lance grumbled, but his words lacked bite and he sounded fatigued.

“I’d like to sleep with you.”

“Come here, beside Lance. He likes to be spooned.”

“Lance? Can I?”

“Yes, please.” He sniffed.

Shiro looked to Keith with a mixture of wonder and alarm but didn’t get any reply. He noticed that they were nude and wondered over his shirt and skirt for a moment. He resolved to strip.

Keith watched him with appreciative eyes, but there was no lust there. Lance wiggled against him appreciative of the confident smell of alpha and his cool cool skin. Keith pulled the blanket over them firmly and kissed them both on the temple before snuggling in.

Lance sniffed a little again. Shiro’s alpha _begged_ him to respond. So he did.

He pressed his nose to Lance’s nape and rubbed his wrist on Lance’s side. Lance relaxed and chirped his gratitude and Keith, feeling it, rumbled a relieved purr.

Guilt broiled in Shiro’s gut. He felt so at home here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter but the way how the story was plotted I realized I needed more space. I thought I could conclude it in fifty pages, but this is thirty pages and I still have a handful of major events to parse through. 
> 
> I predict that the next chapter will be between fifty to sixty pages, all goes well, although I may end up adding another chapter again just in case. Of all the things to find difficult in writing I didn't expect "figuring out how to stop" would be one of them. I'm confident to say though that this is the beginning of the conclusive arc.
> 
> (All goes well, that is.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. The Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my original notes, Lance didn’t know Narti, Ezor and Zethrid personally. Instead he had heard of them and their exploits through a friend who was visiting from Balmera. They were noblewomen jousted out of their homes thanks to a mixture of civil unrest and a new legislature that the Voltron monarchy had put in place to placate the masses. They had turned to piracy to exact their revenge or, at least, call for reform.
> 
> Armed with this information, Lance had an edge over most others who tried to get rid of the pirates by knowing how to appeal to foreign noblewomen, having spent his childhood watching his mothers dance around people like them. In retrospect, that would have shown off his proficiency for languages and interpersonal socialization much more than knowing them personally would, but the story as it exists developed organically—my fingers ran away from me—and I fell in love with the idea before my mind could convince me that it painted Lance as “lucky” rather than “competent”. Live and learn.
> 
> (Although one could argue that thinking Lance lucky in his exploits so far could be an advantageous storytelling tool too…)
> 
> As always thanks for reading!

“Y’know, adults don’t have it all figured out either.”

Shiro stifled a yawn. “What is this about?”

Lance turned and met his eyes. Keith shifted behind him, mostly asleep, pale shoulder open to the setting moon.

Lance said, “I always thought that when you get to a certain age you stop feeling. And because you stop feeling you can make more rational decisions. I was waiting for that moment for a long time. I can’t tell you how surprised I was to find out that I feel the same way now like I did when I was three.”

Shiro chuckled. “You feel like you’re three?”

“I feel…like the same person. I’ve grown up a little but there’s something rooted in me that’s stayed unchanged. And I thought something about that _would_ change when I reached adulthood.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“A little.” His feet slipped between Shiro’s. “But mostly I’m relieved. My decisions won’t be taken from me by this scary amorphous being called _fate._ Whatever I do, whatever I feel, I’m me. I’m responsible for it.”

“Do you always get poetic in the middle of the night?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.”

“What’s keeping you up?”

Lance’s eyes flashed from a corner of the ceiling to Shiro’s eyes. “What’s keeping you?”

Shiro felt his smile turn plastic.

Lance didn’t pry, but he drew nonsense sigils in Shiro’s thin chest hair while he waited for some form of response. His fingers skirted over old scars with no real sense of interest. His touch tickled.

Shiro was lying on his left side, head pillowed on his bent elbow. He murmured, “I thought…that I’d get a sense of purpose when I found Adam again.”

“Why?”

“Because he was my focus for all these years. All this time I was fighting for him.” He made up his face. “I’m a little heartbroken to find out that he moved on without me.”

“The way he received you only a fool would think he’d moved on.”

“He has a family.”

“And he named his _kid_ after you. Besides, you have us.”

Shiro paused.

Keith snored.

“Not like that. You know what I mean.”

Lance was insulted. He leaned up on an elbow and cast his alpha in shadow. “No, I don’t think I do. What _do_ you mean?”

Shiro spoke softly and clearly and unapologetically, “We aren’t a family.”

“You’re our _pack.”_

“For all of three weeks.”

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” he snarled. “When an omega imprints on someone and declares them pack they’re _pack. Nothing_ will get between me seeing you as my alpha, not even you.”

“Still your possession am I?”

Lance faltered, “That’s not what I—”

“I know.” He rolled onto his back and pinched his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Lance sunk into the bedsheets again and felt small. “Are you alright, Shiro?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Shiro dropped his hand to his chest. “I’m just really tired. And lost. And I don’t know what to do. And I feel awful because there are people from my home who don’t have the luxury of feeling like I do.”

“I’d be surprised if the people resisting the Altean Empire didn’t feel lost and tired.” He softened a little, “And even if they didn’t that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel what you do.”

Shiro nodded, blank and unconvinced.

“Y’know, if you wanted, this is no means a requirement, and it’s totally left field, but—”

Shiro arched a brow. Skittish rambling looked strange on the usually beaming Lance.

“You could stay if you wanted. Kolivan loves you and your tea sessions and I’ve never seen Keith take to anyone as quickly as he’s taken to you. Or Lanceria for that matter. The entire family is willing to call you their own.”

“You mean after the year is up?”

“Yes,” he beamed. “You could live with us. If you wanted. And you can teach again. Be one of the drops in the pail to change the status quo—an alpha lecturer! You’d be a novelty. Your classrooms full to the brim.”

“Or empty because no-one wants to learn from a big burly muscle-head.”

“I don’t think so. I think the fact that you _don’t_ belong in the classroom would turn heads and drum up the positive kind of attention.”

“You really see me as a teacher? In _Voltron?”_

Lance nodded, hands clasped beneath his head.

“And what about your kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you want me around them? A-after their born?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lance smiled bemusedly. “You’d be their father.”

Shiro blinked. _Father,_ Lance said. Not _sire._ “You would…consider me as a co-parent?”

“If that’s what you wanted, yes.” He angled a brow. “Do alpha not raise children in your hometown?”

“We _do_ but I just...you don’t in Voltron and I assumed…”

“If you want to raise our children—”

 _Children!_ Shiro blushed despite himself.

“—I would love to have you. I know Keith would, we’ve discussed that possibility before.”

“You have? Why didn’t you ever bring it up with _me?”_

“Because you seemed pretty geared to leave. Didn’t seem like settling down was on your to-do list.” He said so plainly, but Shiro thought he heard accusation in his tone.

Shiro wanted to point out that he was _thinking_. He was thinking of Adam and Terran. He was learning where he fit. He was navigating what it meant to be a free man and grappling with his identity.

Though, in retrospect, in light of all that, perhaps it was a blessing that Lance didn’t introduce the concept of Shiro staying with them as a father. He failed to wrap his head around the concept even now: his brain was heavy with the past six years catching up with him interrupted the shape of Adam’s new, aged face lingering in his mind’s eye—

Shiro rolled his head to the ceiling again. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“I know. I can’t imagine.”

“…I never imagined being a father before.”

“You never thought of adopting an omega and beta into your pack with Adam?”

Shiro shook his head. “He and I pursued others while we were married but never with the intention of having children.”

“Is it that you never wanted children?”

“I just never thought of it. I had Adam, I was content with him, and I knew that without actively trying we wouldn’t have kids. I was content with that.”

“And now?”

Shiro looked at him again. Lance was so thin, so young, he could imagine Lance pregnant less than he could imagine himself a lecturer in one of Voltron’s amphitheaters.

“Now…” he eyed Lance’s clavicle and his unmarked shoulders. “Now I can’t give you an answer. For now I want to fulfil my commitments to you and Keith.”

Lance’s eyes dimmed. “You know: you’re not here to fuck us out of obligation.”

“I didn’t—”

Lance turned his back on him.

“Lance I’m not done talking.”

“ _I’m not done talking_ bleh bleh bleh.”

“Lance.”

Keith snored.

Shiro dropped his head back and grunted in defeat.

The morning was hot and clear.

“It’s humid though,” Curtis put a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table. “You might want to leave soon before the afternoon showers turn the roads to muck again.”

Lance teased, “Eager to get rid of us?”

“Not at all! It was lovely having you. The house a touch more lively.” He smiled at Keith who returned from outside with a basket of freshly plucked fruits. Keith faltered a little but reflexively smiled in return. He ducked to the sink to wash the mangoes and papayas.

Curtis whispered amusedly, “Had I done something?”

“To who? Keith? Keith’s just shy.”

Shiro spooned out their plates despondently.

“Thank you, alpha.”

Shiro came to, hummed, and went on. Curtis eyed him.

Adam poked his head in from outside. He was too bright and too awake. It was clear he’d been up for three hours more than everyone else. “Hey!” He was too loud. “Good morning! How are you guys?”

Lance groaned and laughed, “Oh my god you’re a _morning person?_ I cannot deal. You’re inhuman.”

Adam chuckled. “After breakfast you want a quick tour of the place? Our dogs have been a lot more friendly now that the puppies are active and—”

Lance launched to his feet.

Shiro jumped, spilling tea. “Oh, sorry Curtis.”

“Its fine, the tablecloth has survived worse.”

Lance’s gaze was dangerous. “You have puppies.”

Keith blanched. He’d approached the dinner table with a bowl of fruits and barely caught the edge of the conversation. “No.”

Adam blinked at him. “Oh. He speaks.”

“Would you be willing to part with any of them?”

“ _No._ Lance? No. Stop it. We are not adopting a puppy.”

“And he has a beautiful voice too.”

Keith spluttered.

“Yes, we’re willing to see some of them off to a good home.”

“Show me the puppies please.”

“Lance. _Lance.”_

Curtis smiled, “Eat first. Adam can show you around later. Takashi, did you wash your face?”

A sleepy Takashi who’d appeared at the doorway abruptly turned on his heel. The sound of running water came a heartbeat later. His sister appeared clean faced and bubbly: it was clear who she took after.

After breakfast a calm walk across the grounds worked up a moderate sweat. They had horses and a filly, and a flock of goats with a girl seated in the middle.

“She watches them for us while they graze.”

Lance asked, “Does all your income come from the farm?”

“That’s right. We sell a little produce, some milk, on occasion rent out our horses.” Adam let them into the stables. “Here we are.”

Keith was still sour faced when Lance stooped and peered into a wide tub. It was high enough to keep the two to three week olds in, but low enough that their mother could come and go as she pleased. At the moment she was out, and her tail wagged lazily as Adam pat between her ears.

_“They’re so cute!”_

“They’re adorable. Can we move on?”

“I want that one.”

“No.”

Adam chuckled. A quick look around and he found Shiro aside with a vacant smile. He roused on Adam’s approach, “They’re cute.”

“Yes, a healthy litter.”

“I wasn’t talking about the puppies, Takashi.”

Shiro faced him.

Adam wore an old smile. “What have you decided? Will you stay with them? Live here? Or are you still stuck on returning to Terran?”

Shiro was mutinously mute.

“I know you won’t make your decision now. Everything’s too raw. Nothing has settled. I understand. Sometimes I still feel off balance myself. I haven’t shared in the same experiences you have but…I’ve lived through a few horrors.”

He noticed Adam flexed the arm shiny from healed burns. He asked hesitantly and in Terran, “How do you cope?”

“Very badly some days,” he chuckled. “Sometimes I need to be away from my family. Sometimes I beg Erica for a hug. Most days I sit down and stare at the scenery and puzzle out why I feel the way I do. A big part of it is learning that I can’t be responsible for the things that happened to me.”

“What _had_ happened?”

“Got on the wrong side of someone who thought I was making the moves on their partner.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed.

“This place is hell.” His smile was unpleasant. “That’s why I was so glad to find that they,” and he nodded his chin to the bickering couple, “are good. I’m not saying marry them but…don’t lose them. Friends that good rarely fall into people’s laps.”

“Because they’re rich?”

“Let’s be honest: that _helps.”_

Shiro thought bitterly about the emancipation certificate locked away in the chest of his apartment. He thought bitterly of the apartment. He bit his lip. “I hate depending on them. I want to—”

“Help?”

Shiro faced him.

“Takashi there’s nothing wrong with receiving help. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, or resting, or recovering.”

“I feel like I’m accruing a debt.”

“Do they feel that way?”

“They say they don’t but…” he frowned. “They said, if I wanted, I can help them conceive.”

Adam to his credit didn’t look surprised. “Have you?”

“I said I would help them.”

“Do you see that as a way of paying them back?”

“What’s with the questions?”

“Can you blame me? I don’t know you as well as I used to.”

Shiro held his opposite hip in a self-consoling motion. “I don’t know what to do, Adam. The world hasn’t felt this big since I was a kid.”

Adam stroked his back.

Ozar returned to offer the city-folk a ride to the station. Keith was grumpy and his arms were full of a box of towels, straw, and a fat black puppy. Lance hugged Curtis and lifted Erica into the air for a final toss. Takashi hid behind Curtis’ skirts.

“You’re welcome here any time,” Curtis invited.

“Likewise! There’s always a place for you at the Marmora-de Leon residence. Don’t be a stranger!”

Adam and Shiro exchanged a tender farewell and whispered words Lance didn’t catch. Keith tried not to look too hard. In no time at all, with the sun stinging their shoulders, they were off again, and the plantation disappeared behind the swell of a ruddy red hill.

Shiro found the trip back to Voltron a haze. In between arbitrary thoughts and vaguely recognizing the bickering of his friends, he remembered the silhouette of Adam’s new family and grew lethargic and heartsick. He found himself thinking of and gravitating to his bed the moment the Marmora-de Leon gates came into view.

“Shiro?”

He turned his head. “Hm?” He roused a little and turned entirely. “Yes?”

Keith circled him with a frown. His hands were sharp, “One to five. You feel well?”

“One. Just tired.”

Keith nodded sympathetically.

Lance rubbed his forearm on the other side. “Keith and I are going to pop out to see Coran. I’ll ask someone to prepare you lunch.”

“Why are you going to the physician?” He scented the air. “You don’t smell sick.”

Lance bat his lashes, “Aw, you know my scent that well already? I’m honored.”

He flushed a little. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I just want to make sure the pain I felt yesterday isn’t serious. Keith’s coming with, so don’t worry, I won’t be in danger.”

Shiro stared.

“Would you like me to take Acxa too?”

Shiro blushed.

“I’ll take Acxa too.”

Shiro nodded meekly. “Thank you.”

_“Yip!”_

Shiro jumped. He’d totally forgotten the puppy Lance had in his care. Somehow the children on the property all heard at once and formed an abrupt stampede. Shiro extracted himself from the chaos and locked himself away in his room. It smelled a little dusty and felt entirely alien. Despite his fatigue he went through his few things, cataloguing them, counting. He fell asleep wondering how to begin updating his diary.

When he woke up it was night and the courtyard was alive with calls for dinner and trading jokes. Shiro washed his face and mouth before joining them.

“There you are,” a woman, Krolia, Keith’s mother if memory served, gestured to the empty space between her and her gargantuan husband. “You remember Antok? Keith’s father.”

“Yes, of course. Good night.”

Antok nodded. “Do you like pumpkin?”

“Sure.”

He was passed a bowl of sautéed pumpkin. It tasted amazingly savory, and he followed others’ example of mixing it with plain white rice and a little shredded seaweed on top. Thereafter he was ignored, which suited him. He didn’t have the energy to engage in any more than the periodic ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or passing of alcohol over a kid’s grubby, reaching hands.

Then cold fingers in his hair and scalp struck lighting down his spine—he flinched violently enough to upset his tea.

Krolia just caught it.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Lance’s hand slipped to his nape cupping one scent gland and putting no special emphasis on it. Shiro found the gesture possessive and intimate. He met Lance’s eyes and realized straight away that his skin was vibrant, his eyes rich black and flicking between Shiro’s cleavage and face. He swallowed, suddenly aware he was being hunted. Lance’s voice was soothing, “You okay?”

Shiro nodded.

“You’ve been out of it all day,” he tilted his head and smiled invitingly.

“I’m okay.”

Properly shut out, Lance retreated. “Keith and I are going to turn in. He’s already upstairs putting a nest together.”

“Okay. Good night.”

Lance’s smile fell a little.

Krolia coughed.

Antok whispered, “He’s inviting you to join them.”

Shiro twisted from Krolia to Antok’s polite ignorance to Lance who was phenomenally more embarrassed.

“I was trying to be subtle.” His index finger pawed at the sensitive skin of Shiro’s nape. “What’s your answer?”

He gulped.

“As always you can refuse us—”

He gulped down the last of his tea and stood. He ducked his head, acutely aware of their audience, however kind they were being in overtly ignoring the awkward booty call unfolding before them.

Lance grinned. All his teeth were sharp and Shiro felt his inner alpha go belly up at the sight. “Nice,” he purred and twirled on his heel.

Shiro followed. He turned, “Oh, wait I need to clean up—”

“Go,” Kolivan hissed, “before you kill us all via second hand embarrassment.”

A cordial round of chuckles rose from the assembly of adults at that, and Shiro tucked his chin into his neck and ran up the stairs after Lance’s silhouette.

Lance’s silhouette was form fitting. He exchanged the flat sundress of their two day excursion for a blouse that bared his neck and shoulders, and trousers and betrayed the mesmerizing slink and slunk of his swaying hips. He had a very natural beauty, Shiro thought, one that existed in his motion rather than his physicality, and at that thought Lance caught his gaze over his shoulder.

Shiro froze.

Lance offered his hand. Shiro took it. Lance led his hand to his opposite hip such that if they were to ascend the stairs like so, Shiro would be half hugging him. Like so Shiro felt Lance’s body dance on the simple trial of climbing three flights of stairs. He frowned at the feeling of his blood flying south.

“You’re warm. It’s funny. Your skin was cool just a minute ago.”

“You’re ice cold. I thought heats were called that for a reason.”

“Mm, you’re right. Not sure what’s up with me, maybe it has everything to do with my hormonal imbalance, but all sex things have been weird for me.”

“Speaking of, what did Coran say?”

“He says my body is fine. You know Keith has cysts on his ovaries?”

Shiro nodded.

“I have something similar on my womb. It’s benign, and Coran says it won’t get in the way of sex or pregnancy, but pair that with the fact that I wasn’t totally aroused yesterday before penetration and my cervix was too low, so when Keith started going ham it’s no surprise it hurt.”

“What?”

“Okay, so apparently—and this blew my mind cuz I didn’t know—the vagina changes size. Like it can change from four inches when it’s unaroused to six when the foreplay’s lit, right?”

“…right.”

“My cervix is lower when I’m not aroused. So when Keith hit it, it hurt.”

“I thought omega got off from having their cervix stimulated.”

“There are a lot of variables for that to be in place, and for some omega it doesn’t feel good full stop.” He smiled devilishly, “I hear that alpha are much simpler creatures.”

Shiro blushed and avoided his gaze.

“Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…coming with me right now because you were low key bullied or are you coming with me right now because you want to? Because if you don’t want to, if you want to keep things exclusively between you and Keith, all you need to do is tell me.”

Shiro halted. They were on the last landing before the third and topmost floor. Stopping as he did snapped Lance back and firmly to his side, seeing as he still had a firm grasp on his waist.

“Umf!”

“I feel like you’re giving me an out right now because _you_ don’t want me to be with you two tonight but you won’t tell me outright.”

“What? _No!”_

“Have I ever said or done anything that makes you feel as though I would be uninterested in having sex with both you and Keith?” He noticed Lance’s eyes widened so he repeated, “ _Both_ of you?”

“I just…I assumed…you know how they say beta are better suited for alpha than omega—and you’ve never been with an omega before so I—”

“Who said I’d never been with an omega before?”

Lance pouted. “You sound angry.”

“Just a little. I don’t know who gave you that false information. I’ve loved omega before.”

“You…have?”

“I have. Adam and I exercised an open relationship while we were together.”

“Oh, yes. You did mention that.”

“And Terran was far more relaxed about who slept with who.”

Lance nodded.

“Hey.”

Lance met his eyes.

“The only reason I haven’t touched you the way I touch Keith is because I felt like that was what you wanted.”

“When have I said—”

“It’s not in what you say but you’re often steering me in Keith’s direction. And Keith’s been steering me in yours.” He sighed, “To be honest I’ve been meaning to talk to the two of you about that.”

“I’m sorry. We’ve been dragging you around huh?”

“Just a little.”

“It’s just you and Keith look so good together and…and…I’ve never been with an alpha before—” he panicked, he blurted: “What if I can’t take your knot?!”

Shiro couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

Lance blushed and dropped his head into Shiro’s chest. He spoke in silver tongues for a living but couldn’t get through a perfect negotiation with the one man he had a crush on.

“Sorry,” Shiro stroked his hair. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

“I’m inexperienced and begging you to knot me. Of course it’s funny. It’s like a kitten thinking it can trump a tiger.”

“That’s not why I’m laughing. You can take my knot.”

Lance tensed because it sounded borderline threatening and he felt his nethers twitch. Lance pulled away a little to regain his power and pull his sanity from his groin. “Si-since when have y-you been this co—this co—this cocky?”

And now he was _stuttering!_

Shiro smiled gently. “Not cocky. Just reassuring.”

Lance looked horribly out of place and delighted.

Keith appeared at the top of the stairs. “Lance? Shiro?”

Lance whipped around.

Keith angled a brow so severe Shiro could see it through the dark. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing nothing,” Lance signaled as he skipped up the stairs.

Keith received him and planted a kiss on his nose. He sent a confused look towards Shiro, who didn’t move. “Are you not coming?”

Shiro shuffled forward.

“You okay?”

He nodded, pensive. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Do I have your permission to have sex with Lance?”

Lance squeaked behind his tight lips.

“Sure,” Keith stared at Lance. He was too casual, too blasé. Lance hated him. Lance loved him. “He wants to fuck you, is that alright?”

Lance covered his face with both hands.

“Why the hell are you pretending to be shy?” Keith toed his shins. “Why are you putting on airs in front of Shiro? He’s going to learn how kinky you are eventually, stop that.”

Shiro intervened with a light chuckle, bowed, and peeled Lance’s hands from his face one after the other. He was deferring and squishy faced. “Lance?”

“What.”

“Can I hear your consent please?”

Lance met his eyes. He rebelliously growled, “You may fuck me, alpha.”

Keith howled, “This arrogant bitch!”

But Shiro all but melted.

Keith had made their nest on the floor. It was the most structurally sound nest he’d ever seen—though in his defense he’d only ever seen one prior to now.

It was a circle with rolled sheets padding the circumference. The middle of it was layered with sheets and a futon. It was comfortable and hard. Pillows and cushions were scattered across it. Shiro didn’t fail to notice a bowl of water, rags, and towels on a bedside table, and a pitcher of water and three clay cups on another. The doors to the short patio were wide open although the sheer curtains were drawn, allowing them a great view of the sleeping city and a sweet wind to trickle over their skins. A lantern was on in one corner and that was all, but it was more than enough to make out the colour of Keith’s skin and Lance’s hair.

“Very nice!” Lance praised. “I love the ambiance.”

Keith preened. He fell into the nest first and Lance stooped to kiss him, a kiss so deep it had Keith leaning forward to prolong it. Heat was clear in his eyes when they eventually separated.

“Wait,” Lance signaled.

Keith whined but stayed put.

Lance approached Shiro. “May I undress you?”

“Uhm,” he thought Lance looked so darling putting on a brave face, doe eyes and big ears pink, mouth in a shy smile. “Yes.”

“Kneel, please.”

Shiro kneeled. He flushed at the low _“wow that’s so hot”_ that came from Keith’s general direction. Shiro didn’t need to kneel for Lance to pull his shirt off his head. It was a game of power. Shiro felt uncomfortable. He felt small. His stomach flipped and his skin pricked and at the same moment Lance kneeled and slipped his fingers between the band of his skirt and belly Shiro yelped, “Three!”

Lance jerked to a stop. Keith sat up from his position. Lance retreated, “What did I do?”

“Not you.” He cupped his eyes. “A minute please.”

Lance sat on his calves and dropped his hands to his thighs. Shiro swallowed and felt his pulse in the back of his head. He heard shifting, and Keith’s smell wafted over him when a cup of water was placed beside his knee. He didn’t move at once.

When he moved to drink it, he saw Keith in his original spot making faces at Lance, who was responding in kind. The sense of urgency Shiro had felt to recover so that they could get on with it all evaporated in an instant. He chuckled a little and gained their attentions.

Lance’s eyes skirted over him. “Feeling better?”

“Almost.”

“Did I crowd you?”

“No. I just…don’t think I like being on the receiving end.”

“You mean like pegging?”

“I mean I want to be in control of what we do or don’t do. Is that alright?”

Lance lit up and hastily turned to Keith, who shrugged, “I’m used to getting bossed around.”

Lance chucked a pillow at him.

Shiro grinned, “That said, Lance, please stand?”

He stood. When Shiro reached for the tie on his waist Lance folded his arms behind his back. He liked that.

Keith shifted in Shiro’s peripheral vision to get a better view of them. Shiro slowly slowly undid the tie such that they appreciated the sound of an unfurling knot more now than they ever had. When it popped loose Lance gave the smallest of flinches. Shiro’s eyes flashed up.

He slipped his middle fingers between Lance’s pants and blouse, loosening them. Then he plucked three buttons free. His pants sagged on his hips now. Six light tugs in strategic places and his pants fell to his ankles. Lance daintily stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. Keith caught it, scented it, and hastily dashed around the nest to find a place to weave it in.

Lance continued to watch him with heady eyes as Shiro waited for Keith to return to his invigilating post. When he did, Shiro kissed the rise of Lance’s thigh. He shivered.

“Cold?”

Lance shook his head.

“Non-verbal yet?”

“No, alpha. I don’t really get non-verbal. Keith does.”

“Does that make it hard to communicate?”

“No, he’s very obvious about what he does and doesn’t want.”

Shiro nodded and kissed the inside of Lance’s thigh, an inch shy of the place he’d kissed before. Lance’s breathing remained mellow and stately even as his skin thrummed beneath Shiro’s lips on one leg and shivered beneath the fingers dancing on the other. Somewhere, Lance didn’t notice where, he transitioned from dry chaste kisses to wet lingering ones interspersed by guileless licking. Streaks of saliva loomed closer and closer to the hem of Lance’s panties. He squeaked at the first hint of tongue prying beneath the seam.

Shiro sucked on the pulse he found there.

“That feels nice. Can I pet you?”

“Please don’t, I’m sorry I—”

Lance breathed, “I won’t do anything unless you explicitly tell me to, okay?”

Shiro liked the sound of that. “Okay. Widen your legs?”

Lance did so. He smelled wonderful and he smelled wet. A cursory taste of his skin threatened to make his brain swim. He pressed his lips to the shape of Lance’s sex. It had a pleasant give and pleasant dampness. He shuffled forward, held Lance just beneath his right cheek, and raked his tongue across Lance’s clothed folds.

Lance’s response was small but instant. He tensed and sighed and kept himself still. Shiro did this again and again intentionally wetting the fabric. Between his tongue and Lance’s easy arousal it was soaked through in no time at all. Finding and mouthing his clit was hardly a trial.

Lance winced. He began to think of this as sensory censorship. Now more than ever he wanted Shiro’s tongue against his raw skin but with his panties as a barrier he was simultaneously allowed a glimpse of what to expect and denied what he truly wanted. It generated interest. It motivated his patience. He was so lost in the unpredictable loveliness of Shiro’s mouth that the first fingers to pry at the edge of his panties surprised him.

Shiro glanced at him and he ensured to respond with nothing but obedience.

Keith shifted in place.

Shiro bared Lance to the world a little, just a little, then he lapped up his skin and slick. Lance bowed. The sensation was quadrupled against his naked flesh. He whined and his knees buckled.

Shiro stopped.

“No don’t stop…!”

“Lie down,” Shiro chuckled. And as he did, Keith helping him and stuffing a pillow under his lower back, he moved to take his underwear off. Shiro stopped him. “Can I be silly and take it off with my teeth?”

Lance groaned, “That’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Short of half the things Keith tells me when he’s horny in the mornings. And on Tuesdays.”

Shiro had the edge of lace between his teeth but Lance’s final words made him laugh. He nuzzled his cheek on Lance’s raised thigh. Lance chuckled a little too as he translated the joke for Keith’s benefit.

“Dork,” Keith accused.

Shiro carefully took Lance’s panties in his teeth again and pulled. It took a spell of trial and error, but when Lance lifted his lips and Shiro licked him between disrobing attempts it changed from awkward to sensual. Shiro only got it as far as Lance’s shaking knees before he ducked between them and descended on Lance’s clit.

His back arched and he cried in surprise, hands instantly shooting out to cup Shiro’s head and jerking back as quickly. “Yes, alpha! Yes! Right _there…!”_

Keith swallowed. Shiro’s head bobbed in Lance’s crotch like he was made to live there. And with the spicy intimates dangling over his head on Lance’s ankles… _phew._ He shifted his hand between his legs and rubbed his unfurling erection against his wrist.

Lance’s eyes met his, aware of his arousal. But neither moved while Shiro was calling the shots.

Shiro’s tongue was inventive and curious. It wrangled beneath the clitoral hood and lapped against the entrance of his vagina. He suckled, slurped and slid around Lance’s shapes.

“Please _please_ suck my clit again?”

And Shiro did so and Lance sang.

Lance could feel his innards quaking. In his mind’s eye it lit up like a landing strip, ley lines eager to lead tongue or finger or cock in in in. He mentioned he didn’t mind being fingered and Shiro only stuck a thumb’s up as reply.

“ _Alpha…!”_

Shiro nibbled on his mount. His cheeks were so shiny Lance felt embarrassed. Shiro licked his lips without much thought and suckled Lance all over again.

Lance ruined the sheets. “Stay there,” he begged, “right there—a little faster plea— _yes. Just like that. Don’t stop!”_

Shiro focused on consistency. Just as he thought he might have perfected the rhythm Lance twisted and dislodged him. He was still sandwiched between his thighs and carefully lapped at his bitter scent gland until he came down. Rust and rain bloomed on his palette. Oddly enough—or perhaps because that’s the way it was supposed to be—Lance’s slick complimented his natural scent.

Lance’s thighs were dark with hickies when he hiccupped, “Thank you, Shiro.”

Shiro kissed his mount. “My pleasure. Any critique?”

“Uhh…stay here forever and never change?”

Shiro chortled.

Lance’s head thumped against the pillows. “I’m dizzy. I’m _dizzy_ what the fuck.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I need a drink.”

“Can you stand?”

“I’m not _that_ dizzy.” As he said so he stumbled. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Shiro caught Keith looking at him with palpable awe. In reply, he licked his lips and curled his finger _come hither_ and threatened, “Your turn.”

Keith barreled forward. He licked his mouth, prying Shiro’s lips apart with his tongue, and lapped up the remnant flavours of his husband. He fell when Shiro gently pushed him back. Keith was wearing a skirt, so Shiro simply lifted a leg and gently scraped his teeth down and down and down.

Keith’s breast rose and fell quickly and he pulled at the pillow beneath his head. He stared between the ceiling and Shiro’s face. He whimpered.

“Don’t be afraid of leaving marks,” Lance volunteered. “He likes scratching and light biting. Enough to leave welts.”

Shiro nodded and pressed his teeth in a touch harder. Keith whimpered and automatically brought his other knee to his chest, effectively presenting. His pretty pink cock couldn’t fit in his underwear anymore.

Shiro flushed and bit his lip. “Ancients. _Keith.”_ He was beautiful for the sole reason he was giving himself up for Shiro’s consumption.

He licked the crease where hip met thigh. Keith threw his head back and panted. His cock had a perfect pearl of pre-cum on its perky pink tip. Shiro licked it off and otherwise ignored it.

Keith rut the air and went cross-eyed. Lance crawled forward to suck the shell of his ear.

Shiro drove Keith mad by laving attention on everything but his cock. His thighs were raw and his glands irritated and Keith was thrashing by the time Shiro finally sucked him down, completely, the head at home at the back of his throat, and he forego tenderness. He threw himself up and down and Keith squealed behind his teeth.

Lance was amazed at how Shiro swallowed Keith’s whole length _and_ thrust himself down on it with neither sense of fatigue or discomfort. He was surprised when Keith buckled and hissed. His complexion was splotchy. He was wrecked.

Shiro pulled himself free and appraised his work. Lance jumped when he swallowed.

“...all good?”

“Did you just swallow?”

“Yes?”

“The eggs?”

“No, no eggs yet.”

Lance kissed Keith’s cheek, signed something, and Keith opened his legs a little wider. Shiro shuffled back. Lance slipped two fingers up Keith’s channel behind his flaccid cock—Keith whimpered a little—and prodded his lower belly delicately.

“He’s in clutch though. Maybe they haven’t dropped yet. Maybe by the next heat wave.”

“M’kay.”

Lance watched him carefully.

“Sumn wrong?”

“You’re slurring.” He cupped Shiro’s cheek.

“M’fine.” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. A little buzzed.”

“How’re you feeling? Still want to stay?”

“Why in the world would I leave _now?”_

“Just checking to be polite,” Lance grinned devilishly. “Not like either of us was going to let you go.”

Somehow he hadn’t noticed until then, but Keith’s legs had wrapped around his waist and it would prove a challenge to free himself.

“You must be thirsty. Want a snack?”

Keith chimed, “We just fed him.”

 _“Ohmygodshutupwhyareyoulikethis—”_ and he stuffed a pillow in Keith’s face. Shiro grinned, rubbing Keith’s legs all the while.

He found himself timing their heat waves. The first one didn’t last very long, though Lance and Keith both claimed it was because they reached orgasm so quickly. Shiro blushed.

“Do they hurt in any way?”

Lance shook his head. He was wearing an untied robe. He was seated on a cushion and rocking back and forth. “It feels good. I’ve always had good heats. Then again I’ve always had someone to help me with mine. My first heat was spent with my siblings and they taught me what to expect and how to take care of myself. Nearly all my heats after that I shared with Keith.” He flicked Keith’s ear.

Keith looked up from where he was dozing against Shiro’s belly. “What.”

“Tell Shiro of your heats.”

“Why.”

“He asks.”

Keith sat up and yawned, “My heats aren’t always pleasant. I don’t like being in clutch. It can hurt. It does feel great getting rid of the eggs though. Kind of like a prolonged orgasm or like, a prolonged feeling of being on the edge preceding orgasm, y’know?”

Shiro nodded. He was lying such that his arm was free to sign.

“I hate having heats away from Lance. It feels like my body’s going haywire looking for my omega. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat and I can’t rest.”

Shiro asked how Lance dealt with heats in Keith’s absence.

“I hang out with anyone who’d let me hang around. Like Kolivan would let me sleep on his lap while he’s reading, and Regris lets me loiter around his garden while he’s working, Acxa lets me sleep with her at night, and if my heat coincides with others we make a big nest together. I’d hang with Keith’s parents more but they have _very_ sexual heats.”

Keith grimaced in agreement. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I get another sibling before the year is out.”

Shiro laughed. “It’s lovely to hear that your parents are still in love.”

“Looking at them I think they’re beyond love. It’s like looking at a singular organism. They can’t operate away from one another.”

Lance sighed, “How romantic.”

“They’re like a man-of-war.”

Lance groaned, “How romantic.” He rocked back and forth.

Shiro laughed.

“What are your ruts like?”

“Um, they’re a little violent actually. I’ve never hurt anyone though I’ve been told I can be scary.”

“What do you do?”

“Run. Swim. Sex. My stamina tends to be up and I get very territorial. I just spend three days burning myself out and then two days recovering.”

Keith teased, “Sounds kinda hot.”

Shiro blushed. “Spare me.”

Lance giggled. It wasn’t lost on his lovers that he’d been rocking for some time now. He had a pillow between his legs mostly hidden by his robe. He was masturbating. Shiro felt it hard to leave him alone when Lance grew less subtle about it.

Keith was watching too. Shiro’s heartbeat was against his cheek but he was tuned into Lance’s rhythm. He was approaching his second wave.

Keith reacted first. He crawled behind Lance, put his hand between his shoulder blades and pushed. Lance went easily. Ass up, it took two smooth motions for Keith to toss the trail of his robe aside and line himself up.

Lance drooled, eyes closed, and he jacked himself off while Keith rocked into him in shallow controlled thrusts. He sighed. His hands traced through the film of sweat on Lance’s back. “Pretty omega.”

Lance purred, eyes latched on a riveted Shiro.

But he was quick to grow impatient. Keith read him and bucked with purpose. Lance growled and groaned and arched his back and spread his ass with his hands. His eyes were screwed shut. “Beta my beta—mmf!”

Lance’s scratching toes destroyed Keith’s nest.

Shiro palmed himself through his linen pants.

Suddenly Lance was _loud._ It wasn’t out of pain but he was shrill. Shiro tensed. Keith went on at a harder pace now. A perpetual trail of slick oozed from where they were joined and darkened the sheets. Loud loud Lance fell silent as abruptly, dropped his head, and pulled his hand away from his clit.

Keith leaned over him to assess the change. He pat Lance’s head until Lance faced him. He had tears in his eyes and blood on his lips.

“Bit my tongue.”

“Dork,” Keith kissed his temple. He pulled out.

Lance twisted. His vulva looked sore and juicy. Keith bent him over again to soothe it with his tongue. Lance convulsed.

“Shiro.”

Shiro jumped.

Keith looked deceptively stable. His skin was red his eyes were black his lips were shiny and his dick was hard. He mumbled, “Can you take care of Lance for a bit? Bathroom break.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” He kissed Lance’s butt and nudged him in Shiro’s direction. Lying down side by side Shiro ran his fingers along his side, a sensual skyline against a backdrop of stars.

Lance hummed, “That feels nice.”

Shiro continued with a smile. “How do you feel?”

“Floaty.”

“You looked like you were rubbing yourself really hard. Doesn’t it hurt?”

Lance flushed, “No. It’s sensitive but it doesn’t hurt. Pain kind of cancels out this far into my heat.”

“You don’t feel pain at all?”

“It’s numb. Or it translates into pleasure. Coran says it’s so that the human body will be receptive to sex when the cervix starts dilating.”

“Like it does during pregnancy?”

“Mhm, except it doesn’t open _that_ much during a heat. Just enough to take eggs. It’s still wriggling, wanna feel?”

Shiro nodded.

Lance shuffled, lifted a knee and invited Shiro to finger him. “But don’t move, just feel.”

Shiro touched his labia and _oh_ it felt so _sweet!_ Soft, pliant, gooey, juicy, and _reactive_ as if it were a living creature all its own. Lance exhaled as Shiro delved a little deeper. “That feels nice.”

“ _You_ feel nice.”

“Ha. Okay wait. But don’t pull out.”

“What am I waiting fo—oh. _Oh.”_

Lance laughed. “Yeah.”

“It winked at me!”

Lance laughed.

“Your cervix winked at me!”

Lance dropped his leg on Shiro’s waist while his fingers were still inside. He thought that would encourage him to pull out but he didn’t, and Lance didn’t mind.

“That’s fascinating.”

“ _Mmm,_ that feels nice.”

“I wasn’t trying to arouse you—”

“I know. It’s not arousing more like…it’s stroking. Like petting.”

“And when your cervix dilates it feels good?”

“Yes, but _only_ on my heat. When I menstruate it hurts like a bitch. My natural acting painkillers are offline.”

Shiro chuckled. He swirled his fingers in Lance’s core. He liked how Lance’s eyes lidded when he did.

“Y-you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Aren’t you?”

Lance took one look at his eyes and lips. He laced his arm around his neck and kissed him.

Was this their first kiss?

It was friendly and passionate. Cordial and timeless. Boring and intriguing. Shiro gently pulled his fingers free just to hug him tight and Lance laughed in his mouth. Shiro licked his teeth. Lance rocked lazily and enjoyed the unmistakable firmness of his erection. Shiro grunted.

“Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Can I…? Between your legs?”

Lance nodded, captured in the lethargy of their mashed lips. He hummed at the first touch of Shiro’s cock. The head was blunter than Keith’s, and wider, and when he dropped his raised leg in experimentation he was surprised how _hot_ it was. It wasn’t as slippery and narrow as Keith’s: it wasn’t made to interact with the cervix.

Shiro opened his eyes at last and they immediately flashed over his shoulder. Lance turned. Keith sat aside, polite, quiet and observant. It was clear permission.

So Shiro grasped Lance’s ass with the whole of his palm and thrust forward. Lance moaned immediately. He was beautifully wet that rutting against him wasn’t a trial, in fact, Shiro was vaguely concerned he wouldn’t be able to stop if he tried.

Lance panted against his lips. Shiro licked them. He spared a thought to wonder how his mouth would feel on other parts of his body. He mashed Lance closer to him.

Lance was content to be used but he started squirming.

“Lance?”

“Inside? Alpha? Please? Inside?”

Lance claimed he didn’t go non-verbal but his speech seemed impaired. Shiro thought his begging charming. He thrust shallowly suddenly, knocking his corona against Lance’s clit. He whimpered and Lance screamed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please. _Please._ ”

“Wrap your leg around me.”

Lance did.

“I’m going to enter you now,” Shiro swallowed. He could feel himself drooling. Lance was clawing at his back. The idea that he might be drawing blood thrilled him. The idea that he might be _marking_ him aroused him. “Okay?”

“Please please please.”

Shiro saw Keith wipe at his mouth and rock against a pillow.

Shiro let go of Lance’s ass long enough to guide his cock into Lance’s entrance. Only the head slipped forward, he held Lance flush again, and his rolled himself up sliding—too easily—deeper and deeper and deeper…too easy, Shiro felt Lance’s body was too easy. Too receptive. So accepting. He felt his fangs lengthen. He wanted.

Lance had held his breath. He was in tears. His fingers scratched at Shiro’s long hair. He made his first sound when cock went bump against cervix. He shook. He felt so full. He felt overwarm. He felt overstimulated.

Shiro grunted, “You’re sucking me in…I…!”

Lance kissed him.

Slowly slowly they moved together. The base of Shiro’s cock was growing congested from blood. Keith could see clearly when he pulled out how wet and dark his cock came from Lance’s juices. He hungered for it.

Shiro could feel Lance undulating, squeezing, _twisting_ around his cock like it was on a mission to suck him dry. He flipped them to grant Lance easier access.

Lance made use of being on top. Arms still coiled around Shiro’s thick neck he dropped his hips _smack!_ with abandon. He whined on each impact. He gnawed on Shiro’s flesh. He panted, “Thank you. Thank you.”

Shiro groaned. His hand was firmly clasped on Lance’s right buttock, directing his rise and fall. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Feels good. Can’t think. More.”

So Shiro ground his heels into the floor beneath the nest and thrust up.

Lance shrieked, all modicum of control gone. When he bounced he bounced purely at the will of Shiro’s strength holding him aloft by his cock and little else. Lance rolled his hips forward on occasion, grating his clit against Shiro’s flexed belly. His fangs were sharp and his eyes were latched to Shiro’s. He chanted his name. “Yours yours yours,” he praised in between.

“I—”

“Knot _please please please.”_

Shiro yanked him to his chest again. Lance fell to his breast without complaint. His nails dug in. He warbled with anticipation. He could feel Shiro’s knot bruising his labia with each fevered fuck. And then it popped in.

It happened quickly. Lance convulsed, stretched to capacity, and fell shock still. His skin shivered and felt rod hot. Shiro hugged him tightly and struggled to breathe around the unearthly pressure seizing his gut and spine and soul. And then _then_ their orgasm snapped—Lance’s first which kicked off Shiro’s—and they both gasped and their bodies were no longer their own.

Keith was furiously getting himself off in his corner.

It took a moment for Lance and Shiro to find their heads again and when they did they were seized by the occasional spasm and reminder that they were tied together. Lance shifted experimentally and Shiro cried out.

“I’m sorry!”

Shiro shook his head. He cupped Lance’s cheek, kissed his forehead and pressed him to his heartbeat.

Keith laughed with cum on his hands, “We keep forgetting Shiro’s old.”

Shiro blindly found a cushion and flung it in Keith’s direction. It missed by a mile, sending them into a fit of laughter. Each hiccup sent spirals of pleasure up Shiro’s spine. He squeezed Lance close and felt the urgent flood dim to a trickle.

“Thank you alpha,” Lance licked Shiro’s hairy chest. “That felt more amazing that I ever dreamed. Thank you for sharing yourself with me.”

Shiro was touched. He kissed Lance’s crown. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

“You were _lovely_ , alpha. Beautiful. Incandescent. Unparalleled.”

Shiro frowned, blushing. “Stop it.”

“Heavenly. Exceedingly satisfactory.”

Shiro blushed.

Keith shifted.

“Keith,” Shiro said at the same moment Lance purred, “Come here.”

Keith launched into their embrace, licking their mouths and rubbing his scent glands against theirs. Lance dutifully licked Keith’s hand clean. Keith moaned for his trouble. “You’re going to turn me on again.”

“I’ll take responsibility in a moment. Shiro’s still coming.”

“What?! _Still?”_

Shiro buried his face in Lance’s hair to avoid Keith’s lecherous grin.

“Stop avoiding me.”

“Leave him alone. Come here.”

He heard them kiss.

Unbidden, Shiro fell asleep against their skins.

And then the morning was grey. The sleeping city was grim. Shiro wiped his cheeks dry.

He huddled in the door jamb of the patio. Birds busied themselves with the seeds available, cheeped at him curiously, and flitted away. Behind him his lovers roused but he did not hear them, not until Keith let his feet sound off on the tile. “Shiro?” he croaked.

Shiro scrubbed his face.

Keith kneeled and waited for Shiro to turn to him. “Are you crying?”

Shiro bit his lip.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Later,” he signed.

“Do you want a hug?”

He shook his head. “Four.”

“Do you want to be alone?”

He shook his head.

“Okay,” Keith returned to the nest to make sure Lance was tucked in and to pull free a mostly clean blanket. It reeked helplessly of heat and sex. Keith scented it and offered it. Shiro smiled and accepted it, wrapping himself up in a cocoon. He looked darling.

Keith stifled a grin.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

They waited for sunrise but the sky was stained with clouds. When the seagulls came out Shiro shifted his big toe forward and clasped it over Keith’s. Keith smiled drowsily and did not move. Shiro was grateful: he felt like he could feel the world spinning underneath his feet.

Suddenly, and for no reason at all, he curled his arms around his knees and wept.

-

Lance woke up warm and buzzed and vaguely full. He shifted and cataloged a pair of arms and legs wrapped about his person with a fifth limb tucked between his thighs. His innards felt taut and tender.

He shifted again and Keith lifted his head from Lance’s shoulder. “Should I stop?”

Lance cupped Keith’s cheek and craned his neck into an awkward position to kiss Keith’s cheek. To further his reply, he arched his back, pushing his ass into Keith’s crotch. Keith immediately resettled and nuzzled Lance’s shoulder.

Keith’s breathing hitched and Lance tensed too. He tangled their legs. An egg squished its way past relaxed muscle into Lance’s womb. They exhaled at the same time. When Keith rocked into Lance’s body it was consoling.

It wasn’t lost on Lance that their alpha was missing. He tapped the forearm wrapped around his shoulders and Keith poked his head up.

“Shiro?”

“He’s downstairs sleeping.” At Lance’s hurt expression, “He wasn’t feeling good this morning. Don’t take it personally. Sometimes he just needs to be alone, okay? It’s not that we were bad for him or anything.”

Lance sulked and fiddled with the tassels of a blanket.

Keith caught his fingers and kissed his shoulder. “Sometimes he’ll need time away from us. It doesn’t mean he hates us or hated being with us.”

Lance’s signing was a little messy: “I want him to let us help him.”

“He does.”

Lance sulked.

“But this and that are two separate things.”

Lance sulked.

Keith squashed his nose and mouth against Lance’s cheek and mumbled _nom nom nom nom_ until he cracked a grin. Lance playfully swatted at him. Keith rocked his hips a final three times before gradually slipping free. He kissed Lance’s shoulder and sucked on his gland and felt Lance shiver.

Keith stroked his cheek with his index finger. As he did so he felt his mind _respond_ in a way: this was not simply skin, this was Lance’s skin, special because it was associated with one thousand and one memories. Keith’s body knew its bounce and flex before he did. He could react on autopilot around Lance’s skin because it had become a fixture in his everyday life. And this was just _one part_ of the whole other person who lie in bed beside him. He knew this creature like he knew himself and yet he hungered to learn more, to lean closer, to find another tier of intimacy.

Sensing gravity, Lance turned on his back, now completely awake. “You okay?”

“Why do you wear shirts that show off your shoulders?”

Lance’s eyes widened. “What, you’re going to police how I dress?”

“I don’t have a lick of fashion sense to try.”

Lance grinned. “Damn skippy.”

Keith poked his nose. “Answer.”

Lance shrugged. “I don’t have a mark but everyone knows I’m married. Showing off my shoulders is…I dunno, like a power move. It’s like I’m virginal but taken at the same time.”

“Why virginal?”

“It’s like a style? A presentation. Virginity’s associated with purity, innocence—it can be misleading.”

“Oh, I see where you’re going with this.”

“Some people like talking down to people they think are less worldly than them. They let things slip.”

Vacantly, “I see.”

Lance propped himself up on one elbow. It put him nose to nose with Keith. “Why the sudden interest in my wardrobe?”

Keith pulled away slightly. “I was wondering if you liked being unmarked.”

“Neither here nor there,” Lance was smiling but that smile was masking something. “Why? Thinking about marking me?”

“…maybe.”

Lance was surprised. “I thought you didn’t want to exchange marks?”

“I don’t— _didn’t._ Because I was afraid that would change us.” His eyes flickered and he decided it was now or never. “I _like_ this. I like that we chose each other and we actively choose each other every day. And I was terrified that if we marked each other we robbed ourselves of the choice to choose each other every day because we’re chemically linked—and that doesn’t _really_ go away.”

“Is it…that you like having the choice of leaving?”

Keith glared a little, “Don’t say it like that.”

“But that’s what you said!”

“What I said it that I like _choosing_ _you._ I like feeling affirmed when in the mornings I see you drooling on the pillowcase and can feel in my being despite myself that I’m in love with you. That feeling is _mine,_ not generated by hormonal rewiring of my brain.”

Lance glared through his blush. “I don’t drool.”

Keith offered a dry look.

“No! No, I mean…okay, I…I get it. I do.” He frowned. “I respected that you didn’t want to exchange marks. I vaguely understood why. And I kinda didn’t care, y’know? We’re _married._ And even if we weren’t—”

Keith nodded, he got the gist.”

“But why now? Why years after the fact? What’s changed?”

“Absolutely nothing. But that’s just it. I’m not going to choose anyone else, Lance. And if you’re willing to live with my selfishness, I’d like you to choose me too.”

Lance complained, “You’re such a smooth talker in the mornings.”

“I am?”

“I felt my clit twitch when you said that.”

“How romantic.”

Lance grinned, pinned Keith on his back and straddled him. Keith gasped beneath him, imbibing in his physique and happy smell. Lance’s hands were slow and musical, “I am yours always. Take what is yours.”

Keith shuddered. His fingers grazed Lance’s pebbling nipple reverently. He asked hoarsely, “Where do you want it?”

“You have six sites to choose from,” Lance offered his wrists.

Keith swallowed.

The thighs would be the safest spot. All that meat meant a little less pain when Keith sunk his teeth in, contrary to the inside of his wrists where not only was there bone to cause tension but there was the danger of nicking his veins. Marking the inside of his wrist was a sign of absolute trust because of that.

The shoulders were conventional because they were easy to display and easier to reach during sex: bondmarking traditionally occurred within the throes of passion.

He groaned suddenly and pinned Lance’s hips fast with a glare.

“Can you blame me?” he tried rocking anyway. “I’m horny.”

“I thought you said your heat was practically over.”

“I’m not horny because of my _heat.”_

And if that didn’t get a rise out of Keith nothing would.

He grasped Lance’s wrists, sat up, and kissed him. Lance teetered back, surprised and off balance, but Keith cupped him with his folded legs.

“Shoulder,” Keith nosed at his jaw. “Please. And bite me on the same shoulder.”

Lance’s mouth was noticeably wetter as his lapped at Keith’s ear. He rocked his hips shallowly and Keith replied by slipping his cock in. Lance melted into his embrace like he belonged there. He did.

 _We’re already bonded,_ Keith finally realized.

And then a searing pain shot through the crown of his trapezius.

He yelped and sunk his nails in Lance’s ass. Lance was thorough, keeping his teeth firmly latched for a full five seconds. When he abated Keith thought the area was on fire. It throbbed and his head swam. He felt inexplicably horny.

Lance drew back to face him. “Are you alright?” Blood was still in his mouth. Worry and lust warred behind his eyes.

Keith nodded dazedly and kissed him.

“Was I bad?”

“It would hurt no matter how delicate you were,” he rotated his shoulder experimentally and his ruptured gland protested. “What’s important is that your teeth pierce the muscle.”

He looked a little scared now.

“It was good you surprised me. I didn’t tense. I’m going to surprise you too alright?”

Lance nodded hastily.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lance shrieked with belly laughter. “Of _course_ you won’t hurt me!”

Keith took a second to revel in the pride of being a beta his lover trusted with the ease of breathing, kissed his sweet metallic lips, and sunk his teeth into his flesh.

-

Come midnight the bridge was unoccupied save for a handful of lonely lanterns. They did nothing to pierce the oppressive blackness of this moonless night, and Shiro was unnerved by the steady sound and smell of a sea he couldn’t see.

Ulaz lifted his hand upon recognizing him. They embraced.

Without the urgency of running back to their patrons Shiro could see the sheen in Ulaz’s eyes. He grasped his elbow and grinned wearily but happily. “I’m glad you got out of there, Ulaz.”

“Likewise. It burns me I couldn’t have done more for you.”

“You saved me, time and time again. I’m grateful. And if there’s anything you’d ever need…”

“We’ll come to that,” Ulaz dismissed apologetically. “I am genuinely curious to hear about your wellbeing. When you disappeared from the arena I feared the worst.”

Shiro went into detail of how he caught the attentions of a pair of young philanthropists. This time when he said de Leon-Marmora, Ulaz was riveted.

“You’ve heard of them?”

“Yes. Are you familiar with the structure of families in the city?”

“No, what do you mean by families?”

“I suppose another word would be _clans._ These families are people with wealth who have power over how the city functions. One family might have monopoly over the city’s bathhouses, another monopoly over the sugar industry. They trade power back and forth in the form of marriages, friendships, contracts, and trading alpha.”

Shiro nodded. They’d deteriorated off the trail onto the seawall where Shiro could just make out the white foam of the breathing sea.

“The de Leon family is an old clan, as old as Voltron itself. They have a foothold in maritime trade, which is the bulk of how Voltron engages with the rest of the world: through the strait. It’s no surprise that they are personal friends of the crown and among one of the influential powers on the city. Get on their bad side and they can boycott you into ruin. They’ve done so before.”

Shiro recalled Lance’s casual arrogance when he mentioned no-one would mess with him.

“The young man who took you in is the black sheep of the family.”

Shiro perked up. “Why Lance?”

“Unlike his siblings he has nothing to do with the sea. He’s not a part of the flotilla, nor of the trading companies that depend on sea routes. My sponsor described him as a spider whose web spans the entire city, whose silk touches everyone between here and the continental coast.”

“He’s influential.”

“Beyond influential. He’s a power house. And that’s why in the advancing conflicts between the Coalition and the bourgeoisie many eyes are turned in his direction wondering which side he will choose. The monarch or a promised republic?”

Ulaz stared at him expectantly. Shiro shrugged, “How do you expect me to know? I’ve only been with him for three weeks.”

“In three weeks you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone else has in years since he established a family independent of the de Leons.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t use your position to your advantage.”

“Are you asking me to _spy_ on him?! He took me in I can’t—”

“I am asking you to _think.”_ Ulaz spoke softly and firmly. “You are an intelligent man. The system that has governed Voltron all this time is wrong and is coming to an end. Lance is one man but _he can tip the scales._ And the Coalition needs to know whether he is a friend or an enemy.”

Shiro tasted something sour in his mouth. “I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I don’t know his political allegiances.”

“And you can’t ask?”

“You can ask him yourself. I’m not going to go behind his back and act as a snitch in what could become a civil war.”

Ulaz watched him tepidly. “There is no being neutral in this city anymore.”

“Duly noted. Is there anything else you need?”

Ulaz was sad that he brought out Shiro’s coldness. “Is it possible that you can arrange a meeting between him and a representative of the Coalition?”

“I’ll put in as good a word as I can.”

Ulaz nodded. “Forgive me. I did not mean to threaten you or your omega.”

Shiro softened. “I’m sorry. I owe him a lot and—” and it registered. “He’s not my—”

“And you weren’t just posturing, or have been scentmarked such that I can’t tell where you end and he and his husband begins.”

Shiro glowed in the dark.

Ulaz flashed a teasing grin, broad and juvenile. It went away just as quickly. “The Coalition is organizing. We are prepared to strike.”

“Does it _have_ to result in a battle?”

“I know you’ve seen enough bloodshed to last multiple lifetimes. All goes well our fight won’t see a single drop spilled. But no-one can ask us to stand down in light of the injustice puppeteered by families such as the de Leons. Too many have suffered beneath their unchanging regime.”

Shiro nodded as a reaction. His blood felt a little cold.

“I’ve also heard news of Terran.”

Shiro jerked upright. “What?! What news?”

“The campaign that attempted to subdue them has failed.”

Shiro’s breath caught in his throat. What did that mean? That his home was free? That they were in ruins?

“The Coalition must react and seize the crown before their forces return. If Lance is not with us between now and then—and this is not a threat: I don’t know if I can promise he will be safe from us.”

Shiro swallowed and nothing went down. “I…thank you, Ulaz, for the warning.”

Ulaz grasped his unsteady shoulder. “Will you be alright? Shall I walk you home?”

“No offense old friend, but I don’t want you within a stone’s throw of the place Lance and Keith sleep right now.”

Ulaz drew back with a sad smile.

-

Shiro’s room was so lonely and scentless that he didn’t spend any more than a cursory glance around before jumping up the stairs. He nearly crashed into Krolia half-way there. She steadied him.

“Going to visit the boys?”

He bloomed and stammered.

“I wasn’t teasing,” she squeezed his shoulder and let go. “They’re still awake.” She paused. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine. Just…twitchy.”

“I’d be twitchy too if I had an omega and beta waiting for me.” She winked at him. “Have a good night, love.”

He still felt embarrassed when he reached their apartment. The cloth screen was a familiar face by now but he still had the urge to knock. He sounded off before stepping inside.

“Shiro! Ah,” Lance stopped dead in front of him, arms frozen in a splayed preparation to hug. “One to five?”

Shiro chuckled, “One. _Oof.”_

Lance wasted no time rubbing his head and hair in Shiro’s chest to exchange their scents. “Vrek told me you went on a walk. You feel cold. Want something to drink? Keith made some tea. Come in come in why are you still standing in the doorway?”

Shiro let himself be bullied. He flinched when he was placed on the bed but Lance curled up in his lap at his mercy. Shiro slowly pet him. “What are you, a cat?”

Lance’s grin turned cattish. “Why? Are you into that?”

Shiro didn’t answer.

“ _Are_ you? You dirty little boy.”

“I didn’t answer!”

“Silence is consent.”

Shiro didn’t get the chance to refute. Keith chose that moment to reappear. In the second he recognized Shiro he cupped his jaw and kissed him, banishing every thought from his mind save for how pretty Keith smelled and how cool his skin was.

“Good night, Shiro. Had a nice walk?”

Dazed, “Mhm.”

“Will you sleep with us tonight?”

Dazed, “Mhm.”

“I call big spoon,” Lance declared against Shiro’s belly.

Shiro scratched his hair. “I…before I forget there’s something I need to tell you.”

Lance turned, “Mm?” and his shirt shifted out of place a little.

Shiro froze.

“What is it?”

Shiro pulled at his collar a little. “Is that…?”

“Oh! Yeah,” Lance blushed.

“Wow.” To Keith: “It’s beautiful.”

Keith blushed. “Thank you.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“How do you feel?”

“Strange,” Keith admitted. “Like I can just vaguely feel him in the back of my mind.”

“Same,” Lance giggled. “I feel kinda high.”

Shiro smiled. “That will fade with time. You’ll get used to it.”

Keith sat beside him and nosed at his throat. Physical as they were being there was no threat of sex on the horizon. Shiro was curious, “Are you waiting for a wave?”

“No, our heats are over.” Lance purred, “ _Thank you, alpha.”_

Shiro spluttered, “Y-you’re welcome.”

Keith cupped Shiro’s lower back and rubbed his scent gland against the slip of skin there.

Shiro stroked his hair and stared at the mark in Lance’s skin fresh and raw and felt decidedly lonely. He felt like he should leave the happy couple alone to consummate their affections. At the same time his bones wanted to be nowhere else.

Keith abruptly yawned. “Sleep.”

“What? Me too?”

“You said you would.”

“I did?”

“You change your mind?”

“No.”

“Then sleep.” Keith tugged him. “Sleep between us.”

“Oh, I—wait, Lance I need to tell you something.”

Lance met his eyes, “Can it wait until morning?”

“…yes…?”

“Then let it wait. All I want to think about doing right now is cuddling my alpha. May I do that?”

Shiro’s bones wouldn’t let him say no. In no time at all Lance was strapped to his back nibbling at his nape and Keith was curled against his chest like a babe. He stared into the darkness haunted by the echoes of the first guns to hold Terran at ransom, the look on Adam’s face when he was first torn away from him, the first taste of Sendak on his skin, the warmth of blood from his first kill, and today the crushing comfort of being abundantly welcome in the space between two conjoined souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience for this chapter. The positive response from all readers in the form of comments, kudos, and questions on Tumblr have given me the courage to complete this work. I've learned a lot from this project and I've enjoyed sharing it with others. Thank you for reading.


	9. The Last Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been grammatical and spelling errors the past few chapters. I’ll get around to that. 
> 
> Possibly.
> 
> Eventually.

Shiro woke up sweating. Sunlight was in his eyes and wet limbs plastered to his skin. An experimental shift told him that Lance had melted into the skin of his back and Keith fused to his sternum and hip. Unlike Lance’s sedate purring, Keith was awake, and his eyes flashed over Shiro’s face as he roused.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” the sign was easy. His fingers brushed Keith’s cheek and Keith smiled and nipped at the space his knuckles had been. Shiro, tempted, stayed still, and let Keith dissolve his fingers between his sharp sharp teeth.

Oh _no,_ Shiro thought. He decided to retreat before he lost his wits to his prick. Keith made a big show of lingering, sucking as Shiro withdrew.

“Flirt.”

Keith’s wild grin was all he got as warning. Shiro’s next memory was of their lips mashed together. It woke him up thoroughly— _thoroughly—_ and he felt he was falling face first into a chasm of Keith’s fire.

He felt himself grumble, heard himself moan, felt his body pitch forward and cage Keith in. Keith was _magnificently_ pliable beneath him. Keith’s thighs split to welcome Shiro in a sexual embrace. Keith embedded one hand into the riverbed of Shiro’s long long hair and planted the other on his cheek of sandpaper. His pitchy breathing went higher and higher and when Shiro bucked a little he met him and moaned.

Shiro broke away from kissing him to mouth at his throat, black from hickies from the night before, and as he trailed his way down metal smelling skin he tasted Lance’s Mark in his gland and sucked on it, lightly scraped his detracted teeth over it, tasting both of them at once if it were possible—and Keith warbled out a desperate high note.

 _That_ was what woke Lance.

He shot up like a vole shooting out of its burrow. His cowlicks were legendary and the sleep marks on his cheek a whole other language. He was cross-eyed and red-eyed and staring at them like they were aliens. Keith cracked up laughing.

Lance whacked him with a pillow.

Shiro got caught in the crossfire, of course. He spluttered then yelped when Lance hit them again. It was Keith who caught him and wrenched him down and lured him in for kisses and Lance kept leaning away complaining complaining complaining…

It was Shiro pressing his nose to Lance’s chest and purring that caused a ceasefire. Lance huffed. He combed his fingers through Shiro’s hair.

Keith purred, “Good morning, Lance,” and Shiro shivered because Keith’s voice was black ambrosia.

Lance made a rude gesture in reply.

“Uncalled for,” and he nibbled on Lance’s earring.

Lance didn’t stop him. “Sleep well, Shiro?”

Shiro shivered again. “Yeah.”

“No nightmares?”

Shiro shook his head. His sleep was dreamless. It was a boring blessing.

Keith kissed the ears of each of his lovers in turn before disengaging from their limbs. They complained wordlessly. “Nature calls,” he apologized. When he returned he was reabsorbed like he never left.

Shiro thought groggily, _I can get used to this_. He could get used to these slow mornings and stupid pillow fights and unhurried sensual kisses. His stomach bubbled with a rare devotion. He mouthed at Lance’s clavicle. Lance sighed a soft high note, his knees cracked open—

“Uncle Yorakeith?”

Shiro looked up then Lance then Keith. Little Lanceria was at the door parting the curtain. It was well into the day if the light was painting her in such a sharp contrast.

Keith slipped out of bed and was kneeling in front of her faster than Shiro could process. He finally whispered in awe, “Did she just call him _uncle?”_

“Good morning, Uncle Yorakeith!”

Lance offered a furtive, conspiring grin at the same time Keith protested, “I’m not your uncle, I’m your _brother.”_

“But you’re uncle age.”

Lance did a poor job of suppressing his laughter. Shiro thought it was charming.

Keith pouted. “Never mind, fine. Is everything okay?”

“Daddy asked me to check on you. Do you need food or water?”

“No, we’re fine, thank you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah!”

“Want to say hello to Lance and Shiro?”

“Sheero?”

“You met him, remember? Come.”

“Up?”

Keith lifted her onto his hip. She was a little big, but she fit in his arms as though his arms were sculpted for her. Her eyes were big and curious as Shiro sat up.

“That’s Shiro.”

“Uncle Shiro?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Good morning, Uncle Shiro.”

“Good morning, Lanceria,” Shiro found himself captivated by her elegant coiffure and pretty dark skin. “How are you?”

She smiled shyly and ducked her head. “Fine.”

Lance sat up and leaned over Shiro’s shoulder. “What about _me?!_ Have you forgotten all about me my sugar coated peach blossom?”

Lanceria screamed as Lance kissed and ticked her with his lips. Her laughter was infectious: immediately everyone was grinning.

Keith departed to return Lanceria to his parents, or otherwise drop her in Acxa’s or Kolivan’s lap, and in his absence Lance put on a mischievous smile.

“What are you up to?”

“Come.”

So he followed him and they came to the bathroom. It was grey and plain in a way he never deigned notice in the absence of Lance’s radiant skin. He then caught his reflection: he looked old and boorish, a little unkempt and a little badly shaped.

Lance turned at the same moment something unpleasant flashed through his head and he avoided Lance’s gaze as if he could read it. Lance stood beside him. “You okay?”

Lance was so _tiny._ He was slight. Lithe. _Young_. Shiro felt his good mood crumble. “I’m fine.”

“Can I wash your hair?”

He looked at him quickly. Quickly because…didn’t Lance see the same things he did? Shiro wasn’t looking for beauty in his reflection, and he didn’t consider himself vain precisely, but it didn’t take a lot of looking to realize their reflections did not match. He was callouses and injury and flinches at suspicious noises and Lance was bubbles and blossoms and adventure.

Feeling pathetic and seen, he nodded.

Lance’s voice went down a decibel like he could smell Shiro’s vulnerability. “Can I undress you? I’ll be slow and I won’t kneel.”

“Okay.” His throat felt a little dry.

The first thing Lance did was grasp Shiro’s residual limb—he flinched a little and Lance didn’t shy away—and turned him such that the mirror that dominated the wall above the counter was now at Shiro’s back. He was left to focus on Lance’s hands, slow as he promised, slipping up his body from his soft trunk to his swollen pecs and daintily dividing cloth from skin.

Lance plucked at the buttons holding Shiro’s garb together like it fascinated him, and with each pocket of skin that pluck revealed Lance savored with the tips of his fingers. They tasted Shiro’s waist and hips and ribs and nipples then the top of his bloated unmarred trapezius…Shiro exhaled and the shirt slipped off his shoulders to the floor in a muted whisper.

Lance gazed at him and didn’t see the scars from pitchforks or rusted rapiers. He held Shiro’s sides, thumbs rolling in a soothing pattern. He kissed the cleft of his breast too softly for Shiro to hear the wet smack he was expecting. He shuddered a little when Lance’s fingers scattered a tingle across his ribs.

“Sorry. Tickles?”

“A little. It’s fine.”

“All good so far?”

“One.” Shiro swallowed. “Um, I’m getting aroused.”

“That’s fine. That’s kind of the point.”

“Is it okay if we…don’t…do anything for now?”

“Duh,” he kissed his throat—Lance had to stretch up to his toes to reach—and Shiro put a hand on his waist to stabilize him and keep him close. “I just want to touch you. I like touching you. Is that okay?”

Shiro nodded, a little drunk on Lance’s loud and calm physical affection. He swallowed again and tried not to feel too embarrassed that he was tenting his trousers.

Lance smelled delectable in that sexual way too, but much like last night when he sat between them it was unhurried. He pulled the ties of Shiro’s pants free and shook loose the bunched up fabric from Shiro’s robust hips. He had beautiful, strong, square hips. The shape of his pelvic bones fit into the palms of Lance’s cupped hands and the subtle hollow that poured into his groin…Lance kissed Shiro’s residual limb and noticed another flinch.

“Would you prefer I don’t touch it?”

He shifted. “Not too much, please?”

“Okay.” Lance lured Shiro away from leaning on the counter and Shiro’s trousers hit the floor.

Maybe it was the sexualization of alpha bodies ingrained in him from birth talking but Shiro had a beautiful penis. Lance ached to caress it. It was less its size more it’s shape, a mushroom head, flared edges, shiny reactive foreskin, lively veins—it pulsed and Lance bit his lip.

Shiro’s hand flexed on the edge of the counter nervously.

“Pretty,” Lance breathed, and despite all his instincts screaming at him to go to his knees and worship his new deity, he dropped his forehead to Shiro’s chest and felt his careful breathing and ran circles on his massive thighs. Shiro dropped his nose and lips to Lance’s crown. His cock pulsed again.

“Sit on the counter?”

Shiro abided. Lance stood between his spread thighs and raked his hands up and down from his knobby knees to boney hips to the gentle rolls in his belly with gratuitous unspoken praise. When Lance tilted his head back to offer a dopey grin, Shiro was already watching him with a soft, heated expression.

Lance whispered, “Thank you.”

The words tumbled over Shiro’s lips.

“For?”

“For letting me see you. For trusting me like this.”

Shiro smiled crookedly. He was afraid he might say something sappy with how fast his blood was falling.

This was slow. They could _see_ each other. Where previous encounters were more pawing and needing and seeking a means to an end, this was about living in the moment and savoring the journey. Each chime of their heartbeats was catalogued. Shiro’s cock was out to be scrutinized in daylight not because it served a purpose, but because Lance fancied it art and wanted it placed on the bathroom plinth.

Lance enclosed his lips around a nipple. Shiro’s breath hitched. Lance’s tongue laved over the texture of his areola and he moaned. His hands were busy meanwhile kneading Shiro’s handles and dry joints. He pulled back with a low pop and checked in with a glance and, upon finding everything in Shiro’s general being positive and affirming, offered a charming grin.

Shiro whimpered. “Kiss me.”

Lance rocked forward on his toes and tilted his head and their lips slid together and moved and they breathed. Shiro scratched his nape. Lance’s long long fingers scratched through his stubble with a loud _skrtch sktrch._ Shiro’s hair fell around their faces, offering broken privacy.

Lance felt Shiro’s legs circle around and cage him in. Lance thought his chest felt unnaturally hollow and the thought came unbidden: _right, I gave my heart away._ And he was utterly unafraid.

Shiro broke them apart with a soft hand under Lance’s chin.

“Mrrrp?” Lance protested lightly.

Shiro giggled and licked his bottom lip. He did it again. He did it again. They were exchanging open mouthed kisses in the space Shiro had the thought to slow down. Lance was arching into him and whining a little desperately. Between bites he grumbled “I love you.”

And Shiro pulled back.

Lance was still arching and mouthing in the half second he realized all the pleasant sensations faded. He took in Shiro’s unreadable face, revised the last three seconds, and his peace crumbled.

Hot faced and with a pulsing cock poking at his belly button, he flushed with incredible embarrassment and shame. It only worsened when Shiro didn’t meet his eyes and tried to begin, “I…I…”

“Don’t say anything!” Lance blurted. “My I uh I got ahead of myself. I got uh twisted? Um. It’s just…it felt good and. Hormones, y’know—uh—”

Shiro didn’t stop his horrible terrible explanation. He stared sedately. The mood died.

Lance felt small. “Forget I said anything.”

Shiro didn’t like that expression. He tilted Lance’s face up gently and softly pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. Lance hummed into it and felt confused and wondered if he was being forgiven or being apologized to. Shiro’s cock sat heavy and limp between them.

Then Keith appeared. Whatever lingering feelings they might have rekindled died at his harsh gestures: “The Coalition is here.”

Lance stared at him. His voice was loud, “What do you mean the Coalition is _here?”_

Shiro flinched. “Actually…”

-

Nyma sat in the middle of the recently scrubbed kitchen sipping a cup of Antok’s lemonade. Lance, upon arrival, snarled at the plainness of her hair, the bareness on her fingers, and the newness of her leather flats. _I am lowering myself to your level,_ she implied with adopted garb that suited her as well as a gold tiara suited a goat.

Thace, Kolivan, Krolia and Vrek were on vigil. Lance glowered from the doorway. She smiled one of her glittering smiles, the one that inspired his teenage infatuation. “Good afternoon, Lanceria Marmora de Leone.”

“Get out.”

Everyone jerked at the raw vitriol in his voice. It was unlike him and seemed wildly inappropriate for the occasion. Krolia and Kolivan tensed, alert for something they couldn’t yet see.

Nyma’s smile went slimy. “Rude. After all the trouble I went through to come here? After all, your alpha said it was alright to pay a visit.”

Shiro frowned, worried and hurt. _I didn’t!_ He breathed to tell Lance as much—

Lance glanced at him and glanced away. Shiro stayed silent, feeling weirdly shut down.

Lance finally stepped into the kitchen. His skin crawled with the idea that the dirty politics of the wider world was present in the heart of his family home. He sat directly across from her. “What do you want?”

“You’re usually far sharper than this. Or at the very least far more subtle when digging for information. Isn’t that your job as an informant?”

“Please escort the baroness off the grounds.”

All the Marmora in the room moved at once.

Nyma interrupted, “No need for the escort.” She rose to her feet. “I know the way out. Have a good day.” And on her way out her eyes lingered on Shiro in an overt, predatory sweep.

Lance’s teeth dropped. He tensed to strike her, a growl licked at the base of his throat—Keith’s hand flung out, caught Lance’s shoulder, and pressed him into his seat. Nyma _wanted_ Lance to lash out.

Shiro, to the room’s unspoken pride, didn’t drop his head or his gaze but instead leveled her an unimpressed stare. Nyma smiled as if she won and stepped into the courtyard and the sunlight. Krolia nodded, and Vrek followed the baroness out from a distance.

Lance yanked his shoulder out of Keith’s hold. Prickly as he was, everyone left in attendance waited for an explanation. When he didn’t volunteer any, Krolia broke the silence, “How long will you make us wait, little prince? What was all that?”

Lance sulked and shook his hands. Keith offered his hands but Lance ignored him and continued flapping on his own. Shiro forced himself not to leave the kitchen. Lance’s anger _stank._ Kolivan and Krolia shifted, likewise bothered by the smell.

Finally Lance addressed the room with words split between his hands and voice: “Long story short, Nyma came here to tell me that there are members of the Houses who have allied themselves with the Coalition. I have to decide which side I’m allied with, otherwise they’ll view me as an enemy and take me and mine down when they go after the crown.”

Kolivan reared back, “A coup!”

Thace angled a skeptical brow, “Forgive me, but the two of you barely exchanged words. What did I miss?”

“She broadcasted her partnership with the Coalition before coming here. By coming here she’s implied she’s not afraid of being ostracized by anyone I know who can disown or disenfranchise her. _That,_ in turn, implies that she’s not the only one of the genteel class who’s standing with the Coalition. And if enough Houses are backing the Coalition, that means they now have the ability, power, and resources to overthrow the monarchy. And they’re not afraid to bomb the arena, they won’t be afraid to start a revolution.”

Thace looked less skeptical and more concerned.

Keith growled, “So basically her coming here was a threat.”

“She threatened _you_ , technically. All of you.” He met their eyes each. “She and her new friends are in a position where they can starve the Marmora of work and, if they’re feeling creative, turn the city’s prejudices against you.” He laughed emptily. “It’s fantastic actually. I’m a little in awe that I didn’t see this coming.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He had his head turned by Shiro and Keith all this time and now he was out of touch with the pulse of the city. He didn’t regret it. He would exchange the groundwork he established with his lovers for nothing, but at the same time he felt a dangerous self-directed anger that he failed to protect his family.

Keith slipped into his space and risked resting his hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance did not rebuff him this time. He murmured, “You can’t take the fault for something that had absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“I could have prevented this. I could have made the connections sooner.”

“A single man cannot move a mountain,” Kolivan countered.

Krolia agreed. “Rely on us, Lance. Where do we go from here?”

Lance had his hands on each cheek, pressing his face into a buggy-eyed caricature. He looked haggard and rheumy eyed. He abruptly stretched. “Well the first thing would be to get the kids and the elderly out of Voltron. If there _is_ a coup brewing I don’t want them caught in the crossfire.”

Thace unfolded his hands. “I can secure a ship by tomorrow afternoon.”

Krolia asked where they could possibly go? “The revolution, whether it’s successful or not, whether it _happens_ or not,” and Lance grumbled that he was fairly sure it would, “could very well impact the empire on a whole. Nowhere is safe.”

Shiro, inadvertently, blurted, “Terran.”

Everyone turned to him. Lance licked his lips, cocked his head and set his arms akimbo. The way he cut his hands through the air oozed sass, “Why would we send our family to a literal warzone?”

Keith sent Lance a chiding look.

“It’s not a warzone anymore. Voltron’s forces have pulled back. Terran is no longer occupied by—” he stopped at Lance’s bug-eyed expression. “What is it?”

“Ranveig pulled out of Terran? Are you _serious?_ How do you know this?”

Shiro admitted his meeting with Ulaz.

“Can you trust his information?”

“I trust Ulaz,” Shiro winced: Lance gaped at him in horror and fury.

_“And when were you going to tell me this!?”_

Plaintively, “I tried to, last night. You said it could wait until—”

Lance clapped his hands at him, scaring him into shutting up. “Don’t be _cute!_ Voltron’s armies are weakened in the navy’s absence! If Ranveig is on his way back then that means the Coalition only has a small window in which to seize Voltron!”

Thace thought, “If the winds are bracing they could be here within three weeks. Less, should the weather favor them.”

Lance turned on his heel. He grasped his forehead. He cried, “Kings Zarkon and Alfor are going to be dethroned in less than a _month!”_

Shiro bowed his head in guilt.

Keith murmured into the silence, “Our family, where do we send them?”

“Narquod,” Lance decided after a pause. “They’re a strong nation and I have properties and friends there.”

Keith teased, “You have friends everywhere.”

Lance cracked a wry grin and the tension in the room broke a little.

Krolia turned to Kolivan, “How long to extract the entire family to Narquod?”

“Provided Thace can secure the transports—”

“I can.”

“—I project two weeks, optimistically, and with all our properties intact.”

“That’s cutting it close, leader.”

“One week, with our properties less intact.”

Lance nodded in dismissal. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Keith asked with suspicion, “And what will _you_ be doing?”

“Damage control and a little investigation. I need to find out who and who is a part of the Coalition. My parents will probably have a fine idea so I’ll visit them today. After that there might be some profit to be made seeding doubt and—”

“You’re not thinking of _staying_ are you?”

Lance gave him an odd look.

Keith stomped his foot, “Are you _serious?!”_

“This is my city. I’ve had my eye on changing it from day one so that you and Shiro and people like you and our _children_ don’t have to be afraid to exist in the middle of the street in the middle of the day.” His voice cracked to a higher octave, “Keith: the biggest event to hit the center of the empire is going to occur within the next few weeks and I can influence it and you expect me to _sit it out?”_

Keith was red. _“Yes.”_

“You’re being irrational.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“And what, running away _isn’t_ selfish!?”

“What do you even hope to achieve? What could you possibly do?”

Lance straightened his back and neck. “I’ll show you what I can do.”

“That wasn’t a challenge, Lance!”

Lance didn’t reply. He was stimming once more, slapping his fingers against his hip, and he ignored the crestfallen way Shiro ducked his head as he strut past.

-

“Talk to me.” Keith snatched his husband from his prowl and snarled in response to Lance’s irritated bared teeth. “Talk to me.” He licked Lance’s bottom lip. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Shiro, slumped and sulking in the corner, suppressed a flare of envy when he smelled Lance calm.

Lance pulled out of his husband’s hold to sign. Shiro didn’t catch all the words. He figured he was catching more than Plaxum, Swirn and Blumfump though. The trio had descended onto their apartments— _Keith’s and Lance’s_ apartments, he consciously reminded himself—to present Lance with an army of outfits. To Shiro’s and Keith’s eyes it was a mountain of all things gaudy and incomprehensible.

Lance said, “You’re mad at me.”

“I’m about as mad at you as you’re mad at Shiro.”

Shiro flinched when Lance’s eyes flashed to him and away. He pressed his hand to his sternum, willing his body to relax. _Gods,_ he thought. _That scared me._ He’d grown accustomed to Lance ignoring him for the past few hours. Shiro was probably an idiot for tailing him in spite of that.

Plaxum stepped forward with an assortment. “Yay or nay?”

Lance looked to Keith for his input.

“Do I look like I know shit about fashion?”

Plaxum imperceptibly sneered.

“Maybe pile, please Plax.”

Plaxum bounced away.

“You have a plan. I know you do. And I want in.”

“Of course you do.” Lance added quickly, “I wasn’t planning on keeping you in the dark. I’m just, I’m still thinking.”

“Then tell me what you have so far.”

“You’ll call me selfish again. Or entitled maybe. Or—”

“Yes, I will. And I’m going to be standing beside you while you execute your selfish stupid brilliant plan.”

Lance stared, caught off guard.

“Now tell me what it is.”

Lance grinned. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do…?”

“Pretend you know me.”

“How dare you. I know you.”

“Yeah? What’s my favourite colour?”

“Yes.”

“It’s true,” Lance sighed. “I can’t choose.”

Keith nudged his shoulder and Lance giggled. Shiro pouted.

“C’mon. Fess up. What’s going on?”

Lance admitted it all: he seeks to control the damage the revolution can cause. If he can switch out the Coalition’s current benefactors exclusively with his connections and people he can trust (or otherwise influence), he’ll have the ability to keep it from deteriorating into a mad free-for-all and instead guide it into an isolated event. Towards that goal he has to learn who is in the Coalition, how it’s set up, and who the forerunners are. He can do that at the Griffin’s coming-of-age party that will be happening tomorrow night.

Keith wore a skeptical expression. “That’s…a big slice of pie.”

“Are you implying I’m biting off more than I can chew?”

“Crumbs are going to fall at any rate.”

“I just love how we’re rolling with the pie metaphor.”

Keith ignored him. “And you can do that in a single night?”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“I’m talking to one man.”

Lance startled. He scowled. “I thought you said you would support me.”

“I did. And I am. I also want to make sure you’re not barreling ahead on nothing more than fumes and bravado.”

With a little force: “I know what I’m doing.”

Keith nodded easily. “Then I trust you.”

Lance’s face was wary. Plaxum reappeared with something bright pink and shiny. Lance noticed Keith twitch in revulsion, and shook his head. “It’s a beautiful material though, Plax.”

“It is. It takes to dye incredibly well too: we can change its colour in a matter of hours.” She retreated.

Lance was clicking his favourite puzzle between his fingers and his hip absentmindedly. The earrings within clattered and tinkled. Keith asked, “Who will you carry with you?”

“To the party? I assume you’d want to come. I want to carry Acxa and Kolivan too, they’re nice and scary.”

“You want to look scary?”

“Intimidating at least. Like a pack of wolves or lions marching into battle.” His eyes flashed over Keith’s shoulder. “Shiro too, if he’s amenable.”

Keith smelled the gentle waft of their alpha’s surprise. “Stop teasing him.”

“I don’t mean to. He’s jumpy.”

“Gee. I wonder why.”

Lance glared without heat. “It’ll mean a lot if he could come. A free alpha at a party doesn’t happen every day. It feels proper to have him at Voltron’s last formal party.”

“Sounds like an omen.”

“If there’s a sense of mystery or fate that’s even better. You know how we noblemen love superstitious and spirituality.”

“Yes. As a fashion statement.” He said so just as Plaxum came forward with robes that reminded him thoroughly of the uniform the Blades don. Lance hastily waved her away. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t mention your favourite.”

“Who, Regris?” At Keith’s nod, “Well. Four Blades at a party seems like overkill. People know you’re mercenaries, they’ll wonder if I’m out to kill someone if I show up with an armada.”

“Is that why you chose Kolivan and Acxa? Because they’re alpha they can be excused as eye candy?”

“And _what_ eye candy!” He fanned himself.

Keith smacked his shoulder.

“Ow,” Lance giggled. “But yes.”

Keith swallowed. “What if I went with you as your husband?”

Lance stared.

“Then uhm. That would…I’d look good on your arm too, right?”

Gently, “I thought you didn’t like parties.”

He frowned. “I don’t. I hate how they look at you.”

“I’m pretty, people look.”

“Man. Arrogant, much? But I didn’t mean it like that. When I’m beside you people look at you with pity. They feel sorry for you because you,” he twisted his hands together.

Lance stroked his shoulder.

“They look at you with pity because you married a disabled minority who can barely spell his own name.”

Thoroughly disappointed: _“Keith!”_

“That’s how they look at you. I hate it. They think I’m using you. They infantilize you because of it.”

“Apart from the fact that I could use their misconception to my advantage…you’re aware that they’re _wrong,_ right?”

Keith rolled his eyes.

“No, I have to ask because it sounds like this is something that has been bothering you for a while and I’m kind of pissed I’m only hearing of it now.”

Keith ducked his head. “I was ashamed.”

“Ashamed of _what?_ That you weren’t formally educated? You get better every day, babe. You’ve practiced super hard and I’m really proud of you.”

Keith blushed. “No. I—thank you, but that’s not what I meant. I was ashamed that I was holding you back. I don’t know the bells and whistles of upper society. I was scared I was ruining your reputation by proximity.”

Lance stared.

“You’re mad at me.”

“That was a sexy choice of words.”

“What?”

“ _Ruining your reputation by proximity._ Gods, I want to fuck that sentence. I’m going to kiss you now.”

“What??” Lance lunged forward and wrapped his lips hard of Keith’s and pressed their bodies flush together and Plaxum who had reappeared with an organdy dress turned on her heel.

Shiro, still sulking in his corner, flushed and brought his knees to his chin. Beyond blinking he didn’t look away.

Lance descended to jaw and neck and Keith moaned, “Please don’t. You’re going to turn me into an exhibitionist.”

Lance pulled away in confusion. “You _are_ an exhibition—ow.” Keith rapped his forehead. “Also: I know it’s in the past, but if you’d told me this earlier and come to all those parties as my husband instead of sending Acxa, I could have taught you how to tell people to fuck off politely. All this time I thought you didn’t like being the only deaf person in the room.”

“That too. Doesn’t feel nice being labelled a freak because of the colour of my eyes.”

“Much nicer you be labelled a freak because of how you dance in bed, hmm?”

“ _There are people right there.”_

Lance kissed him, uncaring of Plaxum’s and Swirn’s and Blumpfump’s surreptitious glances. Keith caught Lance’s puzzle. Assuming he was playing, Lance whined in protest and reached for it.

“Wait wait wait. Just hang on a sec.” Pop!

“You broke it!”

“Dumbass, it’s supposed to open.”

“Oh. Right, I forgot. I… _oh.”_ Keith had forced his hand open, palm up, and landed the earrings there. “Pretty. What…”

“I saw these and thought you’d look good in Marmora colours. I’ve never seen you wear purple before and…”

“Oh,” Lance pulled his own earrings free. “Put them on me?”

Keith abided, and Lance could see his teeth detracted. “A lot of people don’t wear purple because it’s too expensive. The dye is rare. I never did because, well. Because it’s yours.”

“It’s yours too now, isn’t it? Your name is Lanceria Marmora de Leone.”

“You’re right…”

Keith finished and stepped back. These earrings did not twinkle and did not make Lance look as illustrious as the emerald studs he held clasped in one hand, but the way Lance shook his head delighting in the weight of them one couldn’t tell.

“If the Marmora de Leone residence were a house, it’s colours would be what. Purple and blue? Purple and gold?”

“The last one sounds good, if fancy.”

“I should get us registered as a House.” He eyed the obnoxious pink thing cast aside in the corner. "Maybe some regalia."

Keith switched back to his hands. “Does that matter? Now?”

“It’ll matter for tomorrow. I want to make a statement. You and our family are as good as anyone in their high seats and big stretches of land. Speaking of which I need to ask Kolivan to liquidate mine.”

“You want to sell your properties?”

“For the worst case scenario.” His eyes caught on something and Keith caught Shiro’s surprised scent again.

Keith sighed. “Talk to him.”

“Huh?”

“Talk to Shiro, Lance.” He wasn’t asking.

Lance nodded and went, and Keith smelled Shiro’s surprised scent again. This time when Plaxum came close with a judgmental look and holding aloft something white and lacey, Keith gave it serious consideration before he declared, “Absolutely not.”

When Lance approached Shiro in his self-imposed corner the first thing he wanted to do was kneel to make Shiro feel bigger than him. But he remembered Shiro didn’t like seeing him kneel for one reason or another, so instead he tangled his arms behind his back and hung his head a little. He whispered in Terran, “Can I sit here?”

“Sit…where?”

Lance pointed at his lap. Shiro pinked. “Sure.” Lance settled and Shiro dropped his hand in Lance’s lap. Lance played with the fingers.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he breathed, concentrating on Shiro’s callouses and scars and the thin hair above each knuckle. “No matter how angry I was I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It’s okay. I was wrong.”

“It isn’t. Maybe you made a mistake but I shouldn’t have reacted that badly, you didn’t deserve it. It won’t happen again. I promise to count to ten next time.”

Shiro smiled, warmed beyond measure. “Okay. Thank you, that means a lot.”

Lance hadn’t realized how devastated Shiro was until this moment, when his scent turned from muggy to clean and bright. He felt even guiltier now.

Shiro flexed his fingers a little. “I didn’t catch everything you and Keith were talking about. But you looked at me…?”

“I’d like you to come to a party with me and Keith tomorrow. Only if you want to.”

“I don’t mind.”

Lance arched a brow. “You don’t mind? It’s a huge room full of people and dancing and petty squabbles of overeducated unintelligent men.”

Shiro chuckled. “I don’t mind,” he repeated absolutely. “But why?”

“To show them that you can’t be broken. To show them that a new age is coming. To normalize you as a person first and alpha second. But mostly it’s because I want you there.”

“Sure,” he chirped.

“Gosh, you agreed so easily. I thought I’d have to like, compose a speech or something.”

“It sounds like an intriguing experience. I’ve never been to a party before.”

“It’s not necessarily all fun.”

“That’s fine. I don’t know how to behave though.”

“You’re better behaved than Keith, you’ll be fine.”

Keith protested, “I saw you say my name. You insulted me didn’t you.”

Lance and Shiro shook their heads.

“Conspirators the lot of you.”

Lance laughed and leaned into Shiro, who felt the cold of Lance’s new earrings against his cheek.

“Lance?”

“Yes, alpha?”

Even now he shivered a little. It wasn’t possessive the way Lance said it, it was endearing, besotted. “If I wanted to tell my friends to leave Voltron, can I do that?”

“Oh. You’ll have to forgive me, I forgot about them.” Lance sighed. “Yes. It’s for the best they go.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” and Lance kissed his temple and nibbled on his ear. “You’d best go now before—”

“Don’t move.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

Shiro’s brow furrowed and he didn’t say.

“You’re hard aren’t you.”

Shiro hid in Lance’s laughing breast. “Can you blame me!?”

-

Shiro wept when he saw Colleen.

She was too thin and she smelled old and had grey was in her hair and yellow in her eyes but she wrapped her boney arms around his shoulders and he wept in her shoulder feeling like a child all over again.

“Gods, what have they done to us,” she stroked his long hair and rubbed her cheek against his. “You’re the size of a _mountain_ now, Takashi.”

Shiro moved to reply, but all that came out was blubbering nonsense. Through his tears he thought he could see Sam and Pidge with watery grins. He definitely heard Matt protest, “You didn’t cry when you saw _us!”_

“I’m sorry, Matt,” and he finally let her go and messed up Matt’s hair. “It’s just…I was worried. I know what can happen to alpha in this city. I assumed the worst.”

Sam sobered, but Colleen pat his face. “I was a young lord’s personal stud. Nothing precisely glamorous, thoroughly objectifying, but I didn’t need to worry about food or being drugged. I was released out of the blue one day.”

Shiro smiled a plaintive smile. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“I’m glad we’re alive.”

“What about…” he glanced at Sam. “Gary?”

Sam shook his head. “At least we know where Gary is buried.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Uncle Gary was lucky. Died in his sleep.” Pidge folded her arms. It sounded cruel to say that about one’s parent, but the way how all their lives had been going lately a peaceful death in one’s sleep was a kindness.

Shiro sunk his head, still holding Colleen’s hand to his cheek.

“You look tired, Takashi.”

“I am. I didn’t even recognize it. I’ve been so _worried_. And now—”

Matt straightened. “And now?”

Shiro sighed and watched her green-gray eyes. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

The five of them crammed into the cluttered office. Colleen glanced around with fond amusement. “Feels like home,” she’d murmured the other day while righting a teetering pile of record books, and Matt had bawled on the spot.

Pidge crawled into her mother’s lap and Matt was clearing the coffee table of ledgers and scraps of paper and getting distracted on every other page. He was mouthing out his scrawl of handwriting when Sam leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on?”

Shiro frowned, sighed, and came right out with it: “The Coalition is planning a coup that will occur sometime in the next two to three weeks. You guys need to leave the city now if you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

Everyone did not move at once. Then everyone was talking at once. Shiro keyed into Colleen first, who latched onto Shiro’s bicep: “How can you know?”

“My friend, the man who liberated me from the coliseum, he works as an informant. He got that intel this morning and he’s working on extracting his family as we speak.”

Sam nodded. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Pidge protested, “But where would we go? If that’s true then noblemen will be running to their ships as soon as tonight—if any of them have informants half as good as m’Lord Lanceria anyway—,” Shiro preened a little, “and then they’ll be no boats left for us, even if we had a destination in mind.”

“Travelling by boat probably isn’t the best way right now. The forces that attacked Terran have withdrawn and they’re coming back.”

Matt blanched. “Oh shit.”

Colleen gripped him a little harder, “What does that mean for our home?”

“I’m not sure,” he apologized. “But I do know somewhere you can go: Adam lives in a small town outside of the city—”

“You found Adam!” Sam grinned bright. Was his beard always grey? Lord, this war aged them.

“Yes,” Shiro softened. “He’s fine. He has a family on a ranch. And it will likely be a tight fit, but I know they’ll keep you safe.”

Pidge asked if there wasn’t a risk of the danger of the coup spilling over into the countryside.

“Lance doesn’t think so and I’m willing to believe him.”

Colleen murmured, “You have a lot of faith in this man.”

Pidge said, “He’s the one who got you out, mom. He found Adam and Shiro too.”

“Why?”

Shiro chuckled emptily. “Because he wants to save the world.”

Hunk tapped on the door and came in with refreshments. He grinned his hello to Shiro, asked after Lance, and no-one missed the subtle way he fumbled when he passed Pidge her drink. Pidge either didn’t notice or didn’t comment.

“I’m guessing,” she said on the rim of her glass after Hunk’s scandalized retreat, “that this is all hush-hush, right? Like we’re just supposed to pack up and leave in the middle of the night, no explanation given, and we can’t warn anyone else.”

Shiro didn’t even think of that. If the Holts told others, surely the grapevine would extend around the city, but as for how that would impact the city or affect Lance’s operation he didn’t know. “I think it’s best to keep it to ourselves for now.”

The room grew cool and sober.

Sam stood first. “I’ll start getting our things together. Shiro, you have Adam’s address?”

“Yes, I…” and Matt passed him a piece of paper and pencil. “Don’t buy pigtail from Hugo,” he read aloud.

Matt snapped his fingers. “Thank you. God, I couldn’t figure it out—”

“You couldn’t figure out your own handwriting?”

“Shut up, Pidge.”

“Language, kit.”

Sam frowned. “What’s wrong with Hugo?”

“Hugo’s a little bitch.” Sam stared at him. Matt squeaked, “He’s also unsanitary.”

“Hm.” Shiro gave Sam the paper and Matt followed him out.

Pidge stood, wrapped her little arms around Shiro’s neck and kissed his cheek. “I get the feeling we won’t see you again for a while. Stay alive, got it?”

He squeezed her elbow. “You too, Pidge.”

She glared at him, dared him not to keep his promise, and then when the door closed he was left alone with Colleen.

She was drinking him in and he felt his jaw go weak. She was alpha, but she had the maternal energy of a wise and weathered omega that made him want to submit and curl up in her lap. He figured she would let him if he tried now, but she looked so brittle he was scared of injuring her. Her fingers pinched his split ends. “I remember you used to hate wearing your hair long.”

“I do. I just haven’t gotten around to shaving.” He scratched his noisy cheek.

Her eyes searched his. “Not a fan of knives?”

“Not a fan of holding them. Or having others hold them to my throat.”

“What about me?”

He watched her again. She was thin. Her dress hung from her like she was a coat hanger. Her hands were steady. He bobbed his head.

“I remember how you like it. The undercut and a clean shave.”

He grinned, “No-one quite gave a mean line like you, Colleen.”

“You flatter me. Come. Let’s work on that mop upstairs.”

In no time at all he was in the bedroom that smelled like the Holt family. He could see all of them cramming into the little bed, curled around one another—maybe Pidge or Matt falling off the edges once or twice during the night. She opened the doors to a dinky patio and the cool breeze of sea and city flowed in. She sat on the bed with scissors and blades on a towel beside her, a towel in her lap, beckoned Shiro to sit between her knees and tied a sheet around his neck.

 _Snip snip snip,_ and Shiro thought the world was too plain for a change that felt so poignant.

“Tell me what happened to you, Takashi.”

He relaxed, and he spoke. He began with Terran. The sounds of the canons and the flashes in the sky that made it day. All the smoke, and the crunch of the school under his heels, and the ringing. He spoke about the long march south, of working on fixing roads and aqueducts and stealing kisses with Adam whenever their paths crossed only to be separated.

“Adam told me he was steadily promoted until he became a house slave. His husband bought his freedom after that and they live in the countryside with twins, another on the way.”

He spoke about trying to run away once too often before being beaten within an inch of his life and thrown into some sand pit to die. He surprised the audience when he won. He spoke softly and carefully about serving Senator Sendak. He admitted he never knew how to say no. He was afraid of the unknown “no” would incur. Colleen rubbed his shoulders and an old scar faded a little. He glanced over the three years in the ring.

“Time becomes a blur. Every day is the same. The only thing that changes are the faces and techniques of challengers.”

He described how he lost his arm, how Ulaz patched him up, and how one day he found himself speaking Terran for the first time in years.

“His accent could have used some work but he was fluent. He promised me the world like Sendak did and I doubted I’d have anything, but a part of me had given up. I went with him. At the end of the day I found myself growing fond of him.”

Shiro smiled when he told Colleen about Keith’s bluntness, how he’d catch Shiro off guard with a word or a careful throw. “Matt calls him spooky, but he’s amazing. He’s quiet, and strong, and has a passion for doing the right thing though you wouldn’t be able to tell at a glance.”

“They sound wonderful. They sound almost too good to be true.”

“They,” and he cleared his throat, “they said it was optional but they wanted—they _want_ my help to give them a baby.”

Colleen hummed, scraping the back of his neck. “And afterward?”

“I…haven’t decided.”

She hummed. “Chin up.”

He abided.

“They sound like good people. I would tell you to be careful, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Shiro closed his eyes. The clatter of a cart, the clop of a donkey’s hoof, the flap of someone’s distant laundry and the gentle _scrtch scrtch scrtch_ of a blade under his jaw was the quiet before the storm. Shiro’s eyes slid open, but they were unseeing as he thought. Colleen all too soon brought the towel to his cheeks.

He startled. “Finished already? You’ve gotten faster.”

“For better or worse the young lord had me shave him.”

He watched her sympathetically. “Were you…”

“Hurt?” She sighed. “I suppose what we had wasn’t too far off from you and that senator.”

“Colleen…” he twisted to face her. “Are you…are you _okay?”_ And he asked with a gravitas of someone who had been there, who understood.

Her shoulders slumped. “It will take a minute or two to recover. I’ve made peace with that.”

He placed his cheek on her thigh and she let him scent her. A little later Matt knocked on the door. “Shiro, your spooky husband is here for you.”

Shiro sat up sharply. “Keith’s here?”

Colleen, amused, pinched his red cheek.

“I mean, he’s not my husband.”

“Of course not.”

Shiro threw a pillow at Matt and it missed by a mile.

Keith unintentionally hiding in the shadows of the narrow street at the back of the shop. He crossed his ankles such that his shoes stayed clear of the trickle of something dubious. He apparently had blended into the moss on the brick so well that a dog who sniffed nearby curiously jumped a whole foot in the air when he shifted.

He watched it run off suddenly wondering about the puppy Lance handed off to the children at the compound. Kolivan said they were going to sell their goats, but would Lance let Kolivan sell the dog? Maybe he could “lose” it the same night everyone boarded a ship for Narquod. He felt guilt upon imagining Lance’s reaction. Keith defended himself by thinking he was very invested in the idea of no puppy placenta in his marital bed.

The back door opened and Keith did not move. Shiro’s scent was not on the wind. Instead it was that handsome dark skinned boy with the long curly hair and biceps Lance sang he’d sink his fangs in if he didn’t have a husband and alpha already.

Keith at the time had joked, “What’s stopping you?” and Lance had looked too thoughtful. “ _I was kidding.”_

“Hunk!”

Keith blinked when the little girl—was she a girl? She didn’t move like one, maybe she identified as something else, Keith never got around to asking—skipped down the shallow steps and caught him.

“Pidge?” He held out a colossal arm to stabilize her. He dwarfed her. He smiled shyly when she leaned her head into his hand. Gosh, her whole _head_ fit in his hand. “What’s up?”

“You have to leave the city. Go back to your parents in the country. Leave _tonight,_ do you understand me?”

Keith stiffened.

Hunk frowned. “What? Pidge, what’s going on?”

“The navy’s coming back from the north and people are going to do some really messed up shit before they get back. Ahhh, Voltron’s a mess. I knew we shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t say that,” Hunk murmured. “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

She punched his gut and he grunted. “You’re such a sap.”

To Keith’s surprise, Hunk bowed and kissed the top of her hair. It was apparently the first time because Hunk froze and jerked back and Pidge lifted her eyes in wonderment. Then she lunged at him, wrapping around him and yanking him into a hard kiss. Keith looked away, giving them their moment. By the time he looked again, they were gone, and Shiro’s scent was on the wind. He stood up and took a little pleasure in seeing his alpha jump.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Shiro was wide-eyed. “I’ve never truly seen you in action before but now I believe it: you’re definitely a hunter.”

Keith was distracted though. His eyes were alight. “You cut your hair?”

Shiro’s shoulders curled in self-awareness. He looked handsome. He looked _refined._ Without the scruff on his jaw the angle of his bones made sharp shadows, made him look more expressive, and without long curtains of hair hiding his ears Keith could see the small shapes catch the light and change their colour.

His fingers reached Shiro’s nape and Shiro smiled and bowed to accommodate him. The close stubble of his undercut sent electricity up Keith’s fingers and Shiro laughed: Keith smelled like an excited child. “You like it?”

“It feels _amazing.”_ At last, he saw Shiro. “And you look comfortable.”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah. I…this is closer to the me I remember. Sans the bulk.”

Keith blinked. “You weren’t always muscular?”

“No, that’s a byproduct of…well. Everything from the past six years. I was tall and skinny as hell.”

Keith stared at him.

“Are you…are you disappointed?”

“Do you have pictures?”

“No, I—”

“You sound so _cute.”_

Shiro spluttered, ears pink.

Keith’s long fingers continued to stroke and feel the new textures of his hair. His cheek and jaw were smooth too and Shiro’s complexion got deeper with each swipe of fingers over his lips. On the last swipe he stuck his tongue out in play. Keith paused, then curiously pressed a finger in. To his primal joy Shiro’s jaw went slack and he swallowed Keith’s forefinger whole. Keith felt him hum.

Keith blushed and pulled back. “Later,” he breathed. “If…if you’d have me.”

“I want you.”

“You’re rarely this forthright,” he was breathless. He sucked his wet finger. “You had a good visit?”

“Colleen is alive and the Holts will be safe with Adam and Kinkade. I could collapse I’m so relieved.”

Keith apologized, “Don’t ease up just yet. Lance will have our work cut out for us between tonight and tomorrow.” His eyes flickered over Shiro’s expression. “Not in the sexy way.”

Shiro slumped a little.

Keith grinned. “Slut.”

He meant it as an endearment and it escaped Shiro’s capacity to think otherwise. He nuzzled him. Keith ran their noses together and their lips met as though it were an inevitability. Shiro cupped Keith’s cheek and used that anchor to carefully pry them apart. Keith licked his lips but then was attentive.

“Is Lance still upset with me?”

Keith smiled softly and pat his cheek. “You’re Lance’s favourite. He’d never be upset with you.”

“Where is he?”

“Visiting his mothers. Come. We should get home before he gets back.”

Shiro followed him. “You smell worried.”

Keith didn’t answer.

-

“You play with fate.”

Lance hissed, “You’re the last person I would have expected to push back on this. Are you really willing to let the Coalition tear our city apart!?”

“I will not let _you_ tear this _family_ apart, Lanceria.” She strut ahead, her eyes critical on the flowers. “I respected you when you left to forge your own family and network. I respected the work that you did.”

Nastily, “What changed?”

“You’re picking fights with the wrong enemies, son. And I have to put my foot down.”

“Or what, you’ll disown me?”

She shot him a horrified glare. Her mouth was pinched. “Don’t joke like that.”

He steeled. Guilt from disappointing his mother and fury that she wouldn’t _listen_ warred in him. “You didn’t answer me. Are you going to stand watch while the Coalition destroys Voltron?”

“They parallel your ideologies don’t they? Free education, emancipated alpha—”

“At the cost of our monarchy. And you’re _still_ avoiding the question.”

“The monarchy is the root of the problem.”

“Kings Alfor and Zarkon are the root of the problem!”

She clicked her tongue and now her voice was heavy in admonishment. “Don’t be naïve. You think corruption ends at the individual?”

“I know that when Allura comes to power she can change it.”

“This is more than the work of _individuals_ , love. You of all people should understand that.” She turned to him and her fingers fluttered in the air, “You pull the strings left and right, you know that a chicken farmer has incredible sway over a businessman ten leagues away. You _know_ that removing two kings from a system that thrives by punishing the masses will not save our city.”

“Then what would you have me _do!?_ The Coalition promises change at the cost of the one thing that kept us together for centuries!”

She screwed up her face in disagreement. “Did it keep us together? It kept some of us subjugated, it kept all of us too busy to do the right thing.” She tilted her head at him oddly. “What are you trying to keep intact?”

“Our culture.”

“Culture _changes_.”

“I also don’t want guns popping down the middle of the street and shooting kids that had nothing to do with a revolution.”

She huffed and turned away from him. She plucked out a bruised frangipani. “Why are you here?”

Behind his back, Lance began to stim. He forced eye contact with the scariest woman he’d ever met. “I need the de Leone family to support me at the party tomorrow.”

“Oh, _Lanceria._ You’re not thinking of warring with other Houses are you?”

“I need to flush out the Houses that have sided with the Coalition and turn them to my side. If I can just control how the money and influence flows then—” he broke off because she was shaking her head slowly, side to side, but it wasn’t at him.

Her eyes opened and were wet and closed off. “When did you become so arrogant?”

He froze, shocked and hurt. “Mommy…”

“You can’t change the world this way. I will not help you. And if you care anything about your husband and his family you will leave the city.”

“Leave the _city?!”_ He watched her. He recoiled. He suspected, “The de Leone has sided with the Coalition.”

She did not answer.

“You can’t be friends with the Marmora de Leone unless we side with you or I stop targeting the Coalition.”

“Nyma went to you to encourage you to our side.”

He scoffed, “You couldn’t have chosen _literally anyone else?!”_

“If I had gone to you and told you instead would that have made a difference?”

“Yes!” He faltered. “But…but…”

“It wouldn’t have. You’re too pigheaded.”

“Why are you siding with them?”

“They champion the same things that you do—”

“Their way of doing things is _wrong!”_

“You’ve never thought so before.”

“They weren’t _bombing places_ before!”

She stared at him. She walked to him and he realized she was barefoot. Her robes looked nice on her. She cupped his cheek. “You’re blind to your _privilege._ You can’t understand why they use the tools they do and therefore this is not your fight. Leave Voltron.”

Lance stared at her, breathing deep. He scrunched his skirt up against his thighs. “But mom—”

“I love you. If I see you at the party tomorrow I do not know you.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. His mother left him alone in the garden. He turned and saw his father and brother staring. They had sadness and pity in their faces. Lance didn’t recognize their faces.

He turned on his heel and put his family home to his back for the last time.

-

Shiro couldn’t place it. Maybe it was the way his heels hit the floor or our loudly he was talking, or how he hadn’t stopped stimming ever since he entered the room, but he tapped Keith’s shoulder and mouthed, “Is Lance alright?”

Keith’s worry bubbled to the surface. He shook his head. He contorted his expression into neutrality as Lance began to speak.

“Now the thing about dance is that it’s not about dance. Actually, nothing is taken at face value. Everything has a double meaning. You’re judged on your interpretation of it.”

Keith groaned. Shiro agreed with him.

“But you don’t need to know that. All you need to know is that’s how everyone else will approach dance. What I want you to do is approach dance as dance.”

Keith asked, “Won’t we come off as…uncivilized if we take dancing at face value?”

“A little, but that’s in part my point. I want you to enjoy dancing.” He looked good in heels. Keith caught Shiro admiring how it lengthened Lance’s legs and put a subtle bend in his back. Keith agreed.

Lance turned on music. “Keith, come.”

Keith pooled out of his lackluster slouch and into Lance’s hands. It was a fascinating transition from bored compatriot to effortless dancer. Keith’s eyes never left Lance’s face. Each step and twirl and snap was on perfect time as though they had rehearsed it. They were totally engaged in one another, and Shiro saw the kiss coming from a mile away. Keith blew into Lance’s mouth and Lance threw him off with a happy squeal.

“You dance good.”

“Lance dances good,” Keith replied, wrists looser than they’d been a moment before. “I just copy him.”

“Shiro, come.”

Shiro rose hesitantly. “You already know I can’t dance.”

For the first time in two hours, Lance deflated and grinned and gave him a look that said _silly alpha._ Shiro felt a knot five hours old slacken in his belly. “This isn’t wanton grinding in the middle of the street, this is classical. Uptight, very proper—”

Keith chimed, “Clench your asshole. That helps.”

Lance made a throwing motion at Keith. He didn’t throw anything, but Lance was so swift and Keith so startled that he messily ducked anyway.

Shiro grinned and his grin was infectious, because Lance caught a hold of his hand and hip still smiling.

“You’re a natural,” Lance praised after a moment.

“Sure you’re not just stroking my ego?”

Lance’s lips made a mysterious shape. He said instead, “When you dance, they might strike up conversations with you.”

“What might they say?”

“Oh, the usual: what do you think of Lord So-and-So’s latest investments and empty flattery on your shoes.”

“How should I reply?” he turned Lance and in.

“Honestly.”

“Mm. Well: I don’t know anything about investments and shoes, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt that you are the best dance partner I’ve had all evening.”

 _Silly alpha_ Lance’s juvenile smirk said. “I’m the only person you’ve danced with all evening.”

“And the only person I ever want to dance with again.”

Lance pursed his lips like he was stifling a sincere smile. His voice was soft and flustered, “Do you plan on flirting with all the partners who ask for your hand?”

“Only the ones with pretty brown skin, witty tongues, balls of steel and hearts of gold.”

“Good Lord!” Lance sighed. He shivered when Shiro kissed the inside of his wrist. “Since when were you such a romantic?”

“I want to apologize for this morning.”

Lance grinned, “Water under the bridge, we talked about this.”

The sidestepped as one. “I should have given you a proper response when you said you loved me.”

Lance froze, blanched, and recoiled in embarrassment. “Shiro, I—how I feel about you isn’t your responsibility.”

“…maybe, but I have an answer anyway. Will you hear it?”

Lance watched him warily.

Keith’s unsubtle stare warmed their backs.

Shiro murmured, “I feel strongly for you. You and Keith in the very brief time we’ve known one another have become my dearest friends. I’d do most anything for you. You have my pride, my awe, my respect and my loyalty.” He ducked his head and frowned a little in thought as though he were second guessing the following words, “Maybe it’s not in the way that you mean it when you say it to me, but I love you.”

Lance breathed deep, eyes dilated.

“Are you—”

“I want to kiss you. One to five?”

Shiro kissed him, soft, chaste, colossal. He wasn’t kissing him for long before a new body was butting against their shoulders and sides and they had to break apart to let Keith in.

“Brat.” Lance accused.

Keith had his arms looped around them and his eyes closed and throat humming and Lance dropped kisses on Shiro’s nose and scar. Someone gave a happy chirp, and everyone accused everyone else.

-

Sendak drank heavily.

The Griffin debut party was everyone’s last bidding war until the end of the world. Beneath gauzy sleeves and silk veils were sharp eyes and sharp tongues and sweet bribes. A new system was growing beneath that ostentatious chandelier.

For all that light the dance hall was dim. It beget an intimacy, a reverence for the seedy encounters happening in plain sight. Shadows made people whisper: _The Kinkade Family has bought stock in the Rizavi Family. Six of the lesser houses have liquidated their assets. The kings are expected to make an appearance_ here _, tonight!_ Sendak knew half of what he overheard was by design, was the seeding wariness and unfaithfulness by paid informants. Haxus was his personal distillery for bad information. He materialized at his side at a gesture: “Yes, senator?”

“It’s been an hour. What have you found out?”

Haxus didn’t point out that half the great houses weren’t yet in attendance and, therefore, the _truly_ valuable nuggets of information had yet to make their rounds. They had to be fashionably late for these things. It was a bosey act: a show of how untouchable or how undaunted they were by the looming political apocalypse.

“It’s too early to tell. Had I more time to parse through the legal accounts I—”

“No. I need you _here._ You’re my eyes and ears here.”

Haxus’ mouth twitched unhappily. His patron had been in a shit mood since the lands surrounding his own had been sold to low and middle class citizens.

Land was passed down from generation to generation from the men and women who fought beside King Gregory and founded Voltron. As a result, landowners and landlords of today were of either of the genteel or infamous luck or new money. It quickly became apparent however that the folk who were laying claim to their new plots were unaffiliated with the aforementioned categories.

By selling land to people who otherwise couldn’t afford it, the value of _Sendak’s land_ plummeted: no longer isolated villas or lone mansions against the backdrop of nature, in three to five years his property would be an island in the middle some new dilapidated provincial dirt town. Land was never worthless, but now Sendak’s land would only be of interest to people with far less money and far less class. Whether Sendak did or did not sell his properties he now operated at a loss.

It could only be a targeted attack! It happened too quickly and exclusively around _his_ properties. Senator Sendak narrowed his eyes. Someone among these feathered vipers had marked him down as an enemy…

Haxus folded into the crowd.

The Griffins seemed to design their party on the same theme as the Rizavi’s, an obvious jab: _what you do I can do better._ Gardens spilled in from outside dusted with lights and the occasional fabric rose glittering gold. Melted wax cascaded off dinner tables and candelabra like intricate little castles. The floor was black, polished to a sheen, reflecting the cool ambiance of the chandelier, and outlining fabulous gowns and skirts.

Senator Sendak had knocked back his third goblet of wine by the time the first of the old families descended into the dance hall.

The de Leone family weas dressed in their striking royal blue and gold, a direct companion to the royal gold and white. They moved as a unit, intimidating in their choreographed steps, the Lady and Countess at the head of their small party.

Haxus reappeared at his elbow. “Their littlest is missing.”

The senator was unsurprised. “He’s young and hot headed. He doesn’t understand that this is a time for blood to stand with blood. There are very few people left to trust.”

By the time the de Leones disintegrated into the fray another old family arrived then the other then the other. It was now two hours in and conversations were growing substantial. _Another transport travelling north has gone missing. I’ve heard miners in Balmera are striking, is that true? I hope not—I’ve investments in the crystals there…_ and then nothing.

Sendak was passively attuned to the temperature of the crowd so noticed when it grew cold. The atmosphere was still. Where there was a hubbub there was hush and in that quiet came a sophisticated march of twelve polished heels. The senator shouldered a path to the staircase.

Six pairs of pants were tailored and straight and a rich, strange, exotic purple, broad at the hips, flared at the calves and narrow at the waists where gold belts and cords and chains hung in graceful arcs. Their arms were bare and muscled and scarred. Their lips were painted and their eyes emphasized by dark shadow. Their shoulders were straight and their collars were high. Their grins were feral. Their power was loud. And the littlest de Leone led the pack.

Theirs was a march into war. They did not boast to be afraid of the future, they boasted to be prepared for it. A gaggle of debutants leapt out of their way. Lance hadn’t even noticed them. His husband grinned, amused by their terror.

Haxus materialized at his shoulder. “They come here as the Marmora de Leone, senator. They registered as a Family this morning.”

Sendak caught wind of his old slave and curled his upper lip. “That child is out to make enemies.”

Regris’ eyes coolly scanned the crowd. He sucked on one of his teeth bared because of the scars on his face and a pair of gents shivered.

Shiro whispered in Terran, “Is it just me or are they genuinely afraid of us?”

Lance giggled in his throat. He preened, straightened his shoulders and lengthened his back, calling attention to the elegance of his neck and naked bondmark. Unlike the others, his collar was folded down. “Fear is good. I can work around fear.”

Keith’s hand coiled around Lance’s nape and he leaned his nose into the perfume of Lance’s claimed scent. He kissed behind his ear and sucked on his lobe, pleased by the subtle _clack clack_ of _his_ earring between his teeth. Before he drew back he licked Lance’s jaw, thoroughly possessive and obscene. All at once observers were voyeurs and those who didn’t recoil in disgust recoiled in embarrassment.

Low and heady Keith asked, “Can I steal Shiro for the first dance?”

Lance kissed him. “Yes.”

Keith kissed him, extended his elbow to Shiro, delighted in the scandalized stares of old money omega and escorted him to the empty dancefloor. Acxa trailed them, Regris vanished, and Kolivan remained as Lance’s shadow.

“Where to first, little prince?”

“I have so many ideas. Too many ideas.”

“Your smile scares me.” But Kolivan’s teeth were detracted too. There was a fire in the air and they had the ability to alter its current. He hungered to see the little prince in action again…

Once or twice Keith saw Lance’s sister or mother in the crowd, pretending to be aloof but they were too attentive. Shiro turned him and he followed, taking stock of other noblemen and their dress and who stood beside them. His eyes pierced the gloom. He committed the frills of one woman’s dress to memory. Lance would want to know who was talking to who so that he’d know where to strike first.

Shiro did not distract him in his vigil. Instead he guided Keith’s feet through dance and did his duty to be every bit a distraction and scandal. An alpha! A freed man! Dancing as though this were not his first time at court! Unbidden came the memory of performing as the king’s Champion. He was performing now, too.

He swallowed cold discomfort. He did not feel the same here as he did as Champion. The audience was the same, but their disgruntlement upon observing him felt _empowering_. He disquieted their views of how the world worked. He was not entertaining his oppressors. He had pride in that.

Keith nipped at his throat.

Shiro startled and missed a step.

“You’re distracted. Do you want to leave?”

“We just got here.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Shiro smiled and smooched Keith’s forehead. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Keith was unconvinced. “Don’t be afraid to tell me when you’re not fine.”

“I will.”

The song passed, and Keith lead Shiro unerringly to a corner where Kolivan stood vigil and Regris was sniffing the rim of a goblet Lance was offering. Just as he thought to take a sip Keith kicked his ankle. Regris hissed.

“Stop flirting with my husband.”

“He offered _me!”_

Keith handed Shiro over and their alpha was kissed and scented. In Terran, “One to five?”

He hesitated. “Two, to be honest.”

“What do you need?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Lance cupped his cheek. Shiro kissed his wrist. Lance smiled and turned to Keith, back to business.

Keith caught his look and replied, “There was a man in a pink armless dress, red beard, red sandals.”

Regris poked his head up. “I see him. He’s by the fountain.”

Lance looked. “That’s one of the Griffin brothers.”

Keith said he saw him talking rather deeply with a dark skinned woman with black hair long to her calves in a moss green skirt.

Regris reported she was by a pillar nose deep in a goblet.

“That’s an heiress of one of the minor houses…that’s interesting. Their parents don’t get along. Who else?”

Keith told him.

Kolivan felt a beat of pride at the open look of awe Shiro wore as Lance, Keith and Regris laid plain their battle plans. At the same time he brushed Shiro’s cheek or Keith’s hair or Regris’ shoulder or checked Kolivan’s hip or flashed Acxa a grin, checking in with his pack, making himself their focus. Any outside looking in could see they were a unit and Lance their nexus.

“Keith, Shiro, as my—” he flashed Shiro a dubious look—“partners,” but even then he cringed a little, “I’d like to use introducing you as an excuse to get close to others. They may offer to dance with you out of courtesy.”

Trust Keith to ask if they could refuse.

“You can. It looks unsightly, but fuck propriety right?”

Keith’s grin was ravishing.

“Is that all right with you? Shiro?”

“One,” Shiro chirped.

“As for you my lovelies, eyes and ears open please.”

Regris, Acxa and Kolivan nodded, then scattered. A man on each arm, Lance lead them directly across the room and a parade of dancers, catching everyone’s eye, reaching for a viscount singing, “Sanda old friend! You look _radiant!”_

Sendak felt his upper lip curl. He was tipsy and he could see the little de Leone’s play by play clear as day. Most could, but wasn’t that part of his ploy? He was transparent in how he reached towards old friends and spoke bluntly about the state of the world. In a room full of liars and dupers Lance told the truth.

_Clever kit._

It was a weapon that would not have been quite as sharp in a room where revolution did not sit heavy on the horizon. But it worked here: whoever he spoke to their eyes lit up, they felt refreshed, they _engaged,_ and their sons or daughters took the littlest de Leone’s husband or alpha by the elbow into dance.

There was also the matter of the gaggle of Marmora who escorted him.

They were mercenaries, each and every one of them, it was clear from the scars in their skins and silence of their struts. They tread in the shadows, lapsing in and out like snakes in a garden. Their eyes were sharp and they made the colossal dance hall small: everyone felt seen. Everyone felt disquieted. They were feral. _Animals._ And they were penning their prey in!

Sendak growled a little. He overheard: _I’ve been told that they were a guild trained to serve the king himself once, before their fall from grace. The alphas are so strong willed, I hardly feel safe here. Lanceria has been talking about a revolution. Is it true the Coalition are going to usurp the throne?_

 _What is that fool doing laying all this bare?_ Sendak sipped from his goblet. Didn’t an informant thrive behind a veil of pretty words and insinuations? Why was he stirring the pot? What action was he calling for?

Sendak stopped dead at a new revelation. He spied, on the dancefloor, _his_ old champion, wrapped in the gaudy arms of some nobody heiress, laughing, _dancing._ He was not the only one to gawk.

_Is that…is he…? He dances better than I do! It’s unseemly! It’s cute. It’s not right!_

Barely fifteen minutes and de Leone—no, it was Marmora de Leone now—had seized the room.

(It would seem that the Griffin boy was not the only one to make his debut.)

He would deny it, but he stared after Shiro with longing. He looked good. He looked like a new man. His skin was glowing and he barely seemed to miss his arm. He was chatting with the woman in his arms and she seemed genuinely engaged as though he were spitting witticisms and she couldn’t believe it. He probably was. She probably couldn’t.

Sendak edged closer. How was Shiro’s command of Altean in recent years…?

Lance minced no words when he found James. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I haven’t come to harass you.”

“Your very existence harasses me.”

“You’re cruel.” He sipped his wine. “Where’s your brother?”

“I’m not letting you within a mile of my impressionable little brother if you keep flouting your guards like that.”

Lance flashed his eyes prettily. “Speak plainly.”

James unlaced his ankles. “Fine. I don’t like you. And I don’t like what you are doing.”

“Enjoying a party?”

“Stealing my brother’s thunder. Designing the ethos of the room to your causes. Manipulating a crowd as though they were a pack of sheep.”

That word would have triggered him once but now his smile was easy and saccharine. “Dear boy, this humble shepherd is simply easing the path of the crowd ushering in a new age.”

“And you asked _me_ to speak plainly?”

“The war against the crowd can happen tonight, here and now. We can keep the rest of the city out of it.”

He snarled. “How noble of you.”

“I think so. Why fall back on guns and war when words are…less bloody? And contracts are where we live anyway. Why should a revolution be any different?”

“You’re an idealist, a child and an idiot to think that you alone can shift the tide of what is to come.”

Something in the back of his mind pinged, a suspicion that now grew roots. He acted on it: “When did you join the Coalition?”

James looked neither surprised nor defensive. His eyes narrowed.

“It’s just that you’re one of the most conservative men I’ve ever met—”

“If Zarkon and Alfor rule for another five years the empire will implode on itself.”

“….meaning…?”

“The monarch as it exists cannot maintain scattered states with threadbare policing and cannibal-infested roads between them. The shape of the empire needs to change and our kings won’t do that. They’re too old and too headstrong to do anything else but measure their cocks.”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say that sounds treasonous.”

“The world is about to end, right? Fuck propriety and patriotism and the whole bag.”

Lance twitched, frustrated at how _alike_ they sounded.

Something seemed to click in James too as he measured Lance with calm eyes. “What’s with your stance though? You’ve been on the side of reform since as long as I’ve known you. You’re the first person I would have expected to join the Coalition.”

“I don’t like the way the Coalition does things.”

James’ eyes grew bright and wide with amusement. “Mm,” he sipped, “now this I _must_ hear. What, pray, is the _right_ way to do things?”

“They were making headway calling for new legislations—”

James shot out a bark of laughter, harsh and loud, and it was so abrupt that it called a few eyes and upset Lance’s cool. James drank off the last of his alcohol and descended into a tirade: “That’s rich. You stupid fool. The law and the system of people and mechanisms as it currently exists is sealed from the inside to prevent change from occurring. There’s no using the right paths to usher in the future we _need._ Why do you think they call us domestic terrorists?”

Lance replied dryly, “Because of the attempted bombing of the coliseum.”

James snarled, “Fuck off. That circus bullshit has been a blight on our city for generations and you know it. We can’t call ourselves human and get off on another person’s suffering.” His face softened, surprisingly, when he caught Shiro on the dancefloor. “You should know that better than most.”

Lance steered the conversation back, “So the answer is violence? That’s all that we’re left with?”

James’ fangs fell. “That’s all _we’re left with._ That’s the last option the monarchy gave us. They _want_ to make us into criminals.” His eyes cut over Lance from crown to toe. “And it’s working.”

“The Coalition was responsible for several bills before—”

“You’re annoying me.” He stepped into Lance’s space to say something else but his vision snagged on something over his shoulder and he sighed, bravado instantly deflated, and took a step back. “Call off your dog.”

Confused, Lance turned. Kolivan was there, his glower cool cool cool. Insulted on his behalf Lance twisted to quarrel: “He’s not—”

But James was moving away, indifferent, totally unbothered, and Lance felt hollow with the unfamiliar sensation of defeat.

Kolivan’s voice was low, “Little prince.”

“I’m fine.”

“I doubt it,” he tilted his head when Lance glared at him. “That aside, you’ve been summoned.”

Lance chortled. “ _Summoned?!_ Please. They can sod off. Who do they think they are, King of Altea?”

Kolivan’s lips parted as he tried to find a gentle reply.

Lance startled. “Shit. Which one?”

“King Zarkon.”

“Where?”

“Terrace.”

“Shit,” and Lance ducked under Kolivan’s arm and scrambled to pull himself together.

Lance hadn’t seen King Zarkon for a good half year now, not personally at any rate. There were glimpses or nods between them whenever Lance visited the palace in pursuit of Allura or they happened to be partying at the same venue, but the kings were making less and less public appearances recently. It was both a surprise and not a surprise that at least one of them made an appearance tonight.

Lance felt a little sorry for the Griffin’s littlest. Tonight was supposed to be his night but instead he was being overshadowed by pesky informants, rousing coups and literal kings. Lance waited at the doorway to the terrace and saw the young man in question bow to the king, “If you should need anything else.”

Lance saw a hand wave him away. He smiled as Griffin walked past, but he was ignored. “Rude,” he grumbled. “Wait here please, Kolivan.”

“Yes, little prince.”

He sounded off his heels and rounded King Zarkon’s borrowed chair.

 _Gods,_ Lance thought. _He looks old._

Zarkon had shrunk. His shoulders were in. His eyes were unlit. The rings on his fingers looked ready to fall off his knuckles.

“Marmora de Leone,” King Zarkon said. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Likewise.”

“Mm. Don’t bother licking my boots. Doesn’t suit you.”

Lance leaned against the ice cold cement railing and folded his arms. He did not smile. “Didn’t seem right to come all out and blurt what the heck happened to you.”

“Does that mean you aren’t curious?”

“Didn’t say that.”

King Zarkon lifted his rings to the sky and danced his fingers. The gems and jewelry clacked. “A few assassinations and death threats would do that to you.”

Lance gasped, “The Coalition has been sending you death threats?”

“The Coalition are merely the most recent enemies I’ve gained during my rule.” He moved to pluck the rings free one by one. “Speaking of, you’ve been making quite the stir tonight. From how my informants understand it, you’re in the business of stealing the Coalition’s fire itself, out to change the course of the war.”

“We don’t need bombs and guns and lockdowns to usher in a new age.”

To his surprise, King Zarkon replied, “Leave Voltron.”

Lance spluttered.

“If you believe that the tools that have guided the Empire to its current dilapidated state can be used to forge a new system, then you are too naïve to be in this war.”

Lance grit his teeth and his gums burned when he refused to let his teeth detract. “You sound like my mother.”

King Zarkon watched him sadly. “I’m fond of your mothers. They know how to navigate this world and they’ll be here when the new one comes. You are just as brilliant but didn’t pick up their subtlety…or maybe it’s just a lack of experience or too much arrogance. I’m at fault for the latter, giving you Narquod as I did.” He put the last ring down on the arm rest. They were in a neat little line. “I thought I could make a change in much the same way. I saw myself in you.” His fingers flexed.

Lance’s eyes flickered to the movement and his lips parted in recognition. The rings had disguised it. His three middle fingers sported an extra joint. Lance held the railing at his back to brace himself. He wheezed, “You’re Marmora.”

King Zarkon grinned and it was a broad, toothy, unhappy thing.

“How…?”

“I hid my heritage determined to set things right for my people. But upon the throne there is too much determination to do things _the right way._ And the right way means that it takes years to ensure that people have enough to eat, but by then the harvest season is long gone and the granaries are barely at half capacity.” He grew miserable. “The system doesn’t work, Lanceria.”

Lance stared, cold and helpless before this old man he didn’t recognize.

“My daughter understands that.”

His heart tripped. His vision swam. Lance stared at the tiles and saw their patterns swirl and fade. His own voice was distant and grainy and tinged with unfamiliar laughter: “Allura is part of the Coalition.”

King Zarkon stood. “We’ve already lost. Leave Voltron before the target on your back grows any larger.”

Weakly, “And you, my king?” It felt like an empty title now, and left Lance’s lips like a jeer.

King Zarkon nodded to himself. He didn’t reply, simply returned to the heat inside.

Kolivan bowed to the receding king then ran to his patron. “Lance,” he steadied him. “Little prince?”

Lance covered his eyes. He whispered, “I want to go home now.”

“Of course.” Kolivan offered his elbow and Lance struggled not to feel sick from revelation.

Moments before Lance’s plans were upended, Keith was watching Shiro on the dancefloor and cataloguing the faces and dresses of people conspiring in public. The top of his head was beginning to grow hot from the effort.

The music ended and began anew. Shiro had built up a positive reputation, he guessed, by the way he was never in want of a dance partner. He was a little flushed from the exertion of remembering steps and maintaining social decorum, vaguely unnerved by the smells of strangers, but his buzz stayed steady and he offered his hand to the first request of “may I have this dance?”

His brain caught up with his fatigue a half second later. His blood ran cold and he was face to face with Sendak.

Sendak, broad and a little grey and still devastatingly handsome. His grin was familiar, “Do you mind if I lead?”

Shiro’s lips were lead and his feet were light. He’d barely responded before he was whisked onto the dancefloor. The hands at his hip and around his hand were firm. Shiro couldn’t look away.

“You look well, Takashi.”

That shook some of the magic off him. Shiro looked away, searching for amethyst eyes in a spinning room. “Freedom can do a lot for a man.”

“Mm. A free man. What trade have you taken up since?”

“What?”

“Freed slaves usually need to find work immediately in order to pay off their debts.”

“I have no debt.”

“Six years a slave and you’re still so hopeful and naïve.”

Shiro tugged his hand. It did not pull loose. His palm was sweaty but Sendak’s fingers were bone dry.

“Lanceria Marmora de Leone was raised in a world of transactions. A man like that doesn’t stay rich splurging thousands on one paltry slave unless it’s an investment. You think it’s a mistake you’re still at his side?”

“I stay beside him by choice.”

“He makes you think that.”

Shiro snarled, “I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work. Lance and Keith are my friends whatever your outside assessment. You don’t know the full story and you have no business pretending you know me.”

“Forgive me for my faux paus then. Had I known the informant and his pet husband had you so brainwashed I wouldn’t have bothered to try to help.”

Shiro, exhausted of the charade, pulled away from Sendak at last. Stinking of livid alpha, everyone leapt out of his path. He felt constricted, his skin too tight, too acutely aware of eyes and murmurs that when Keith grasped his shoulders he twisted away.

“I’m sorry,” Keith put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you. One to—”

“Five. I need to go.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s go.” He made a sign and shadows moved in their peripheral vision. “We’re leaving. I’ll walk ahead of you.”

Shiro didn’t lift his head, not until they were away from whispering voices and in the cool dark of an outside bench, a coat over his shoulders. He thought he could hear the very stars singing. Keith was silent and reliable beside him. Shiro tugged on his sleeve. Keith faced him, and Shiro made a simple shape.

“Don’t be sorry,” Keith whispered. “I’m proud of you, I’m grateful you told me when you had enough. You did really well. If anything I should be apologizing to you. I should have prevented the senator from getting that close to you.”

Shiro shook his head but said nothing else.

At the same time Lance was collecting his coat so was Sendak.

“Good night, Marmora de Leone.”

“Good night, senator,” he still felt off balance, his mind moving too quickly for him to go through more than the basic of social graces. He mustered a brittle smile and turned away, resisting the urge to lean on Kolivan’s arm.

But then the senator spoke. He criticized, “Takashi is more than a tool.”

Lance’s last step was such a sharp _click!_ that Regris winced. He twisted his mouth over his shoulder, “I beg your pardon, sir?”

Sendak took two steps forward. “I said that Takashi is not a tool. He’s not a pawn for you to play with in your facsimile of a play war. He’s a person and if you’re not careful you’re going to get him killed right along beside you.”

Regris felt his fangs drop. _This hypocritical asshole._ He waited for permission to strike him.

Kolivan watched them carefully. Turning Lance away now could be a form of weakness. It wasn’t his place. The senator was egging him into a fight. Why? Envy? Regris twitched, but halted at Kolivan’s furtive hand sign.

Very little time passed before Lance emptily replied, “I would be less concerned with the affairs of others if I were you, Senator Sendak. What with the value of your properties and stocks plummeting, it’s a wonder you have time to worry for a person over whom you have no authority.”

Lance’s mouth stretched into something resembling a smile and he turned away, heels clicking, coat on one arm, back straight, a king, Sendak red-faced and shaking—he threw himself forward, he bellowed: “ _It’s you! You’ve made an enemy tonight, Leone! Watch your back you bitch!”_ Kolivan held him back.

Only Regris who had fallen into step beside him heard Lance grunt, “Join the club.”

-

When Lance heard that Sendak had touched Shiro, Lance was full of regret. “You will never hear of him again. I promise you.”

“Thank you, but I’ve had enough of my honor being defended for one evening.”

Lance and Keith watched in alarm and sorrow as Shiro turned to his personal apartment. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“…good night, Shiro.”

“Sleep well, Shiro.”

Shiro didn’t have the energy to wave, to smile. He met each of their eyes, nodded, and disappeared behind the door.

Lance dropped his head. “Fuck. This was a disaster.” Keith offered his shoulder and Acxa rubbed his back. “I’m sorry. It’s over.”

Kolivan wanted to ask desperately what King Zarkon has said to have sapped the fight out of their little prince, and he could see the question on the tip of everyone’s tongues. He whispered, “You should rest. We’ll all be in a better headspace in the morning.”

Lance nodded, still curled and small in Keith’s embrace.

Acxa pressed her forehead to her brother’s. She parted to ask, “Will you need help guiding him upstairs?”

Keith shook his head.

“Good night, Yorakeith.”

“Night, Acxa.” And Keith looped his arms under Lance’s legs and lifted him easy.

He walked sluggishly, drowsy from the night, and his mind’s eye was still swimming with flashing petticoats and shiny brass buttons. But for the way Lance was so passive and crumpled he made the final few steps into their apartment and laid him in their bed. No sooner had he done so, Lance was reanimated, grasped Keith’s head, and yanked him into a filthy kiss.

Keith groaned. “I love you, I love this, but I’m tired.”

“Can I ride you? You don’t have to do anything but take it. Please. I need you.”

Keith sighed, and Lance drank it, and rubbed his nose up the length of Keith’s nose in a soft, yearning caress.

“Alright.”

And like so, Lance kneeled on the bed and slowly stripped him. Then he stood in a pool of his clothing, his cock high, his braid blindly being undone as Lance sucked his jaw. When his hair was loose Lance gripped it and guided him down and Keith went, wholly abiding. Lance pulled his own blouse free. His earrings twinkled as he shook his hair, curly now that the product and brushing had worn off.

“Keep your heels on?”

“Mm, you like my heels?”

“Yeah. Makes you look…fierce.”

Lance’s teeth detracted and he grinned. There was no preamble, no foreplay. Keith cautioned Lance to be gentle with himself, but the way Lance slid onto Keith’s cock it looked like he wouldn’t stop even if it hurt him.

Lance was using Keith, and Keith was aware, and Keith didn’t mind. Something went wrong and Lance felt weak and out of control and he wanted to be in control again, at least a little. So Keith put his arms over his head and made the appropriate sounds. Lance bounced over him sweaty and magnificent and detached.

When he was finished Keith took his heels off for him, pulled the sheets up, and kissed the top of his head. Lance clutched at him. Keith fell asleep with his nails embedded in his back.

When Lance awoke, he didn’t recognize what had roused him. Perhaps it was the sound of someone stepping on the silly floorboard right in front of their bed. That’s where he stood, a silhouette in the blue dawn.

“Mm? Shiro? You okay?”

Shiro lunged forward with both arms outstretched.


	10. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response on this fic has been amazing and humbling. I've learned a lot of technical skills writing this, and one of my biggest lessons was making peace with the fact that stories are alive. As they are woven into being they bite and snarl and purr and coo. Readers' comments have have been a great influence on the development of this story. It's like all of us have been slowly domesticating a feral cat...
> 
> ...and yes I added more chapters. Laugh at me at your leisure.

The fascinating thing about bonding is that the bite itself was cursory.

A bond between two or more people has been described as an invisible pull driven by love, hormones, and the intricate mechanics of personhood. To believe that a bond is synonymous with love is an incomplete definition. A bond is a matter of community, a form of immaterial symbiosis, and no equivalent had been found anywhere else in the animal kingdom: it seemed to be one of the few things that separated the men from the ants.

Against popular notion, a bond does not form at the moment of a bite. A bond is a systematic rewiring of the brain. It is true to say that a bond is _accelerated_ with a bite, as the bite releases hormones in the blood that allow the participating parties to imprint on one another as a chick imprints on her mother, but the brain cannot be reprogrammed in the span of a day.

Rather, a bond is a living force between people, as real as gravity, which grows or wanes in strength according to the relationship people cultivate with one another. It is a physical influence manifested out of a transient relationship be it romantic, familial, sexual, or platonic. Some have described it as a quantifiable version of one’s relations. And while a bond may result in a bite, a bite is most certainly influenced by a pre-existing bond.

The brain is rewired to tune into the smell, sound, and appearance of another, to recognize their inflection or the temperature of their skin with an acuity more precise than the finest of instruments. A bonded couple or thruple could recognize one another from leagues away by just the shape of their shoulder, the gait of their walk, or the cadence of their scream.

Therefore, when Lance’s voice rang out six minutes before dawn, Shiro’s brain had launched him out and up the stairs before he could understand why.

He’d run into their apartments and into Lance’s arms, gathering him up and inhaling him deep. Lance clutched onto his shirt. Underneath the sharp stink of fear there was no blood, no smell of sickness. Shiro was aware of Keith somewhere in the room. He ignored him. It was Lance who needed him now.

When others appeared at the doorway Shiro snarled at them, Lance still pressed to his chest, and they all paused, but did not go away.

Keith stepped between them to block their vision. Shiro met his eyes, meek and expectant.

“Let them come in,” Keith whispered, “they need to move the body.”

 _Body?_ Shiro had tripped over something when he came in, didn’t he? But he growled again when Antok took a step forward, and so Keith stepped forward such that Shiro’s face was propped against Keith’s chest. Shiro’s nose wrinkled at an acrid smell, but his irate sounds tapered off into content, trusting chirping. He trapped Lance to his body. Trembling Lance was prone and compliant.

Shiro was not in his right mind for another half an hour, where Lance was silent but calm against his breast, and Keith had scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed his arms raw. He offered his hands for his mates to scent, and when they did not recoil he took that as acceptance. He pooled into the bed with them, Lance between them, and carefully comforted them until their instincts slowly faded from the forefront of their minds.

Shiro roused first. He licked Keith’s hand.

He smiled tiredly. The sky was blue now. “Hey. Are you back?”

“I wasn’t aware I left.”

“Oh, you were _gone._ You were pure, raw alpha for a good while. I don’t think you understood anything I’ve been saying this entire time.”

Shiro swallowed in concern. He didn’t remember doing anything dangerous or harmful, but then his focus was pin-prick narrow on Lance and his wellbeing. “Did I…do anything?”

“Relax. The worst you did was snarl at my parents when they came in the room.”

Shiro licked his lips. “What? Happened?”

Keith pet Lance’s hair for a moment before he looked into Shiro’s eyes and mouthed, “Assassin.”

-

Keith went to the roof where two bodies were laid out ten feet away from Regris’ vegetable garden. He nodded his head to his parents and Kolivan, and they parted to let him in the circle. Acxa rest her hand on his shoulder in a bid of comfort, but her voice was cold: “One is alpha, the other omega. We believe this one is Tando, judging by the red hair. Outsourced. The other has worked in the city before, I recognized her.”

They had a broken and slashed neck respectively. Keith felt his dried hands twitch when his eyes fell on the latter. “How did they get in?”

“Scaled the wall with ropes and grappling hooks. This one,” Kolivan pointed to the one he didn’t recognize, “incapacitated Olur and Deik before someone took them by surprise and snapped their neck.”

Keith startled. “Someone? Not one of us?”

“The other assassin, we assume.”

Keith blinked at the bodies. They did not wear the same uniforms or the same cloth.

Keith saw Olur and Deik on the way up. They were an old couple, older than Kolivan with aching knees and fading senses. They’d been nursing their throbbing heads and given him apologetic glances. He shared their tea to check in, show his respect and thanks, and to reassure them that now all was well. At the same time he remained unsteady. They all did.

He asked, “So is it just that they were really _really_ good or are we getting soft?”

Krolia chided him with a soft sound.

“Why don’t they smell like anything?”

“Suppressant powder,” Kolivan replied, nose flared. “But the dust is finer than any we’ve ever seen.”

Acxa said, “They have wealthy clients.”

Keith grunted, “Of _course_ they do. They’re _here.”_

They fell silent for a moment. The sun fell on their attackers’ faces.

Krolia asked, “How is Lance?”

“In shock, I think. He hasn’t spoken much. Shiro’s got him.” Keith covered his face and sighed. He felt his sister squeeze his shoulder in consolation, and felt another big hand, his father Antok, massaging the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

Acxa tapped his knuckles so that he looked up when Thace began to say, “…today. The boat has been secured. Lance should go on it.”

Keith snorted. “You know that’s not going to happen.”

“It’s not an option, Keith. We nearly lost people today. Lance is obviously their target.”

“Lance will be protected by _us._ We’re a whole guild of fighters and mercenaries and they’ll never get this close to us again.”

“Lance will be safer if he leaves Voltron.”

“Everyone wants him to leave Voltron! That’s why these fucks are here, that’s why Lance won’t go!”

“Keith,” Krolia whispered, “we nearly _lost_ Olur and Deik.”

Keith sobered fast, like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head.

Right. Right. Wasn’t his primordial beta at the forefront of his mind too? He was so focused on protecting Lance and his interests that it didn’t catch up with him until it was too late that he was basically saying his family should die so that Lance can complete his cause which everyone else declared was suicide at worst.

He gasped and covered his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Antok pulled him into a tense hug with two sharp rubs on his back.

The vibrations of Antok and occasionally his sister’s voice washed over him but he didn’t pay full attention.

The tide of their council shifted when Vrek appeared. She said, “There’s someone here. They say they know the little prince.” At the alarmed faces of her family she asked without missing a beat, “Should I shoot them?”

-

Lance said he wanted to burn the bed, so Shiro escorted him from the penthouse. Instead they were in Shiro’s space which felt and smelled and looked unlived in. It was clean and tidy. Lance stared glassy eyed at the trunk and the manuscript on top of it. “You’ve been writing?”

Shiro nodded. “Things that I can remember during my time a slave here, and my time in Terran.”

“That’ll make for an incredible memoir. I’d like to read it when you’re done.”

“Sure.” He paused. “Thank you.”

Lance moved naturally, and he stopped shaking, but the arms through his pretty, dropping nightdress were alive with gooseflesh. His hair was on end. Lance’s big eyes swept around him slowly and perennially, and sometimes if Shiro moved too suddenly he flinched.

He was not okay, so Shiro didn’t bother asking. He instead tried to offer him comfort. Was he hungry? At least drink some water. Tired? No?

“Can I borrow your shower?”

“Of course.”

“Can you come with me? Nothing sexy,” he joked vacantly. “Just to…have you there.”

Shiro nodded instantly. “Of course.”

Lance moved slowly, like he didn’t want to but he was coaching himself to make each step. Shiro was a steady presence beside him, taking his dress when he stepped out of it and passing him soaps and rags when he reached for it. Shiro sat on the floor, eyes closed, one ear on Lance scrubbing his hair and the other on the sounds leaking through the doorway.

“That was the first time I’ve seen someone die in front of me.”

Shiro watched him.

“I didn’t mean to scream but by the time I registered what the high-pitched sound was I couldn’t stop. It’s funny. For a split second I thought that there was just a sound when people die.”

Shiro didn’t point out that there was. The gurgle of a woman drowning on her own blood, the sound of urine hitting sand, the crack of—

“I knew what Keith did for a living but to see him actually do it…he slashed their throat without hesitation. It made me think, if that had been anyone else—does Keith ever make a mistake? _I didn’t even know he slept with a knife!”_

Shiro swallowed the pulse of amusement at abrupt Lance’s hysteria. It was inappropriate. He smiled, but then he frowned. “Does that bother you? That he sleeps with knives.”

Lance glanced at him. Shiro flinched. _Fuck that scared me._ Lance’s eyes were blank and steady. He looked young and drawn. His eyes didn’t fit in his face. He replied, “Not…as much as you might think. When we first started living together he stashed weapons everywhere. Just…on the floor, on the dresser, on the coffee table. One time I bitched to him about it and he said that he put everything there so that if Regris ever came by he’d know what he was walking into.”

“Oh. Keith had it out of Regris ever since then?”

“Keith just likes harassing Reggie about his crush on me. I’m pretty sure Regris would have gotten over it by now if Keith stopped reminding him.”

Shiro immediately recalled the way Regris and Kolivan and Acxa had looked to him with impervious loyalty shimmering in their eyes. “Somehow I doubt that,” he smiled.

“Mm. I know I’m lovely but I’m not _that_ lovely.”

“It’s more than your loveliness, Lance.”

Lance, eyes on the floor, smiled weakly, a real smile. “Keith started hiding weapons from plain view since then, but sometimes he’d pull a whole sword out of his ass and I’m like _how._ How!?”

Shiro let himself chuckle a little this time. It wasn’t lost on him that Lance was performing to cope. Shiro just kept an eye on him, looking for familiar signs of deterioration.

“And I knew what he did for a living. I knew he killed sometimes, be it for a job or self-defense. I’ve just never seen it.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “I don’t know how he can—” he stopped.

Shiro was no longer smiling. “How he can kill?”

Lance stared at the tiles.

“How can a man do something like that, right?”

“Shut up,” Lance muttered with heat. “That’s not what I meant.”

Shiro stopped goading him and Lance rinsed out his hair. Shiro was in half a mind to help, but something about the implication how Lance felt about his lovers having blood on their hands didn’t sit well with him.

Lance was clean and wet and naked and staring at the middle distance. Shiro passed him a towel.

“Thank you. I uh. I bet you’re gonna tell me that I should stop all this.”

“What?”

Lance gestured vaguely to the heavens. “Everything. What I’m doing? Making enemies. Hell, Sendak was pissed at me, maybe he’s the one who sent that thug.”

“Why would Sendak be mad at you?”

“Oh,” he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but it only made him look heavy and jaded, “I crippled the only source of income he had left aside from a failing investment in a maritime shipping company that went bankrupt because of a storm a few months ago. He was very upset.”

Shiro frowned. “I can imagine.”

Lance met his eyes, less vacant, more knowing, and Shiro didn’t like it.

“Did you do that to Sendak because of me?”

“Maybe. Just a little. Also he’s an asshole and I was looking for an excuse to lash out for weeks. I’m glad I got to see his face when he recognized I,” and he stretched out his limbs and flexed his wrists and twirled his toes, “T’was I who was the bane of his recent misfortune!”

He smiled. “You can cross that off your bucket list.”

“Yeah. Right under get-my-heart-broken-by-my-best-friend-who-joined-a-rebellion-and-didn’t-tell-me.”

Shiro didn’t follow.

“Princess Allura,” Lance sighed, “my dearest friend and lover of another reality, is a part of the Coalition. And I can’t compete with her. My plan to be the sole proprietor of the coup is now utterly unfeasible.”

“It wasn’t unfeasible before?”

“Not _utterly.”_

Shiro felt himself smile and Lance huffed out a chuckle, and a little of the tension between them ebbed.

Lance sobered again to explain. “Allura’s the leader by divine right and by blood, _and_ she has money to last her three lifetimes. People trust her leadership. She can wage war against the monarchy for however long she wants.”

“That’s self-defeating. Why not just take the throne from her fathers?”

“King Zarkon told me that the monarchy as it currently exists, the system, will not support the empire indefinitely. Allura and the Coalition are against the _system,_ and they believe that guns and bombs are how they’re going to destroy it.”

“And when they destroy it, who will be in charge? Allura?”

Lance stared at him.

Shiro blushed. “Not that I know anything about politics. Adam was always quick to tell me—”

“No no, you have a point. Finish it.”

Shiro straightened at the hungry expression on Lance’s face. He felt warm and put on the spot but still managed to ask about the people who were in charge now, what happens to them? “Will they be put under the guillotine? Or will they have a role in forming the new system? I’ve been wondering why so many old houses are interested in this coup. It doesn’t make sense—to _me_ at least. A new system, a feasible, functional one to undo the damage that its predecessor had caused, would mean the end of all the luxuries that they’ve so far experienced. People don’t give up their wealth that easily.”

“Maybe they want to be on the good side of the new system.”

“The good side of the new system will be redistributing their wealth among the people. They won’t be able to buy alpha, give them twelve gold a week or afford an entire guild of mercenaries as security.”

Lance straightened. Sharply, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“It was just an example.”

“A fucking _specific_ example. What’s going on?”

Shiro pushed his hand forward.

“What?”

“Ten.”

“Oh,” he placed his cold hand, bath soft, in Shiro’s, bone dry, warm and callused. “Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

At “one” they both exhaled. Shiro stood. “Let’s get you in some dry clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I’m not done talking to you.”

“Just give me a minute to find the words.”

Lance abided, followed Shiro to the bedroom, and without asking stole Shiro’s clothes to wear. It didn’t occur to Shiro to stop him. Then Lance sat on the rug on the floor. He patted the space in front of him. Shiro joined him.

“Do you resent that I’m rich?”

“Yes.” Sendak’s warning swam in his head. “But it’s nothing personal. It just gives you freedom that a lot of others aren’t awarded in Voltron. The socio-economic system as it currently exists means that people like you, who are omega and of old money, will always come out on top. But it’s skewed, and it comes at the cost of people like me, who can’t even afford our own freedom. When King Zarkon says the system doesn’t work, he’s talking about people like me. Or Keith and his family. Or the Holts. The system _fails us._ And I’m skeptical of a new system ushered in by people who were thriving on the former one.”

Lance blinked. He kissed Shiro.

Shiro jumped, but leaned into Lance’s cold lips and articulate tongue. Too soon they parted.

Lance flushed, “Sorry. It’s just—sometimes you and Keith just _say things_.”

Shiro hiccupped, “What did I say? I’ll say it again.”

Lance pinched his chin with a coquettish grin. “You have a point…”

Shiro sulked, irritated he wasn’t going to get more than that.

“…and I never saw it that way. I thought that everyone had the right idea but that they were going about it the wrong way.”

“They are. I think it’s the wrong people leading this ‘revolution’ too. I think this is nothing more than a power grab, as though they’re putting Voltron under new management under the guise of ushering in a new age, like what you were gearing for.”

“And now they’ve sent assassins after me.”

“Are you worried?”

“No, I’m in a nest of mercenaries who love me as I love them, I’m not worried about my bodily protection. But my reputation and their reputation, if the entire Coalition is my enemy, I don’t think…I don’t think I can stay here. I’ll never be able to make a living, neither will the Marmora. And with the way the Coalition does things they’ll probably bomb us out like they did Daibazaal.” He blinked. “There’s something poetic about that.”

“What?”

“Daibazaal, which was the city-state that countered Voltron when they attempted to overtake them, was destroyed with bombs. Now, Voltron’s up-and-coming revolutionary group is using bombs against the city. It’s like karma. Or at the very least the makings of an interesting ballad.”

Lance was close enough for Shiro to pet his cheek and neck, so he did. Lance didn’t even blink and Shiro was grateful. He couldn’t stand the little stabs of guilt when Lance was jumping at his every movement earlier.

Shiro asked, “What will you do now?”

Lance sighed.

Someone knocked on the door. It was Keith, looking grim and miserable. “Lance, we need you.”

“Are you alright?”

“Besides _everything?”_ Keith disappeared.

Lance got to his feet. “Come, Shiro.”

“Me too?”

Lance looked at him quizzically.

“Of course. Me too.” Shiro stood.

-

Ryan Kinkade stood in a kitchen bursting at the seams with half the Marmora family in attendance. They stared at him. His shoulders fell with clear relief when Lance appeared. Lance was surprised, then half smiled, then looked furious, then looked horrified: “Are you part of the Coalition too?”

“Yes.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. He pouted, “Why didn’t _you_ come to draft me instead of Nyma?!”

“I was afraid your husband would stab me on sight.”

Someone laughed.

Kinkade looked thoroughly unhappy. “You wouldn’t have joined us no matter who we sent.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Would you have joined us?”

“Well, we’ll never know now, would we?”

“You’re too strong willed, Lance.”

Lance glowered.

“Nyma volunteered.”

“ _Of course_ she did! She’s a power-hungry scamp! She’s a villain who finds pleasure in watching children get punished for vases _she_ knocked over, of course she’d walk into my kitchen to—”

Thace interrupted, “Should we be wondering why you’re here?”

“I’ve come to warn you. I’ve heard that assassins have been deployed to—”

Lance laughed manically. “Too late for that party, bub! He already got his throat slashed.”

Keith imperceptibly winced.

Ilun volunteered, “And the second one was dispatched as well.”

Lance blanched. “Fuck, there were two of them?”

Kinkade looked alarmed, and his eyes roved over Lance’s being, but it wasn’t sexual, so Shiro didn’t glare _too_ much. Acxa did. Kinkade cleared his throat and found his eyes again and said, “If there were only two, then it has only just begun. There is a betting pool on whose assassin with come back with your head.”

Every eye was on Ryan Kinkade. Every eye was on Lance.

He was unreadable. His lips parted to speak. He vomited.

There was a flurry of movement. Lance was escorted away, orders were called, someone grabbed a bucket and six stayed in the kitchen to glower at Kinkade. When the worst of the hubbub died down, Kinkade was (mostly) alone with Lance’s husband and sister-in-law over the sound of the floor being scrubbed.

Kinkade shifted. He’d never _truly_ met Keith. They were introduced, and the rest of his person Kinkade divined by circumstantial evidence. With the man standing before him powerful and in a uniform that fit him and suited him, Kinkade slowly admitted to himself that he only had half of the story all this time.

Acxa shared his sharp features, but there was something more intimidating about her beyond the muscle mass of an alpha and natural propensity to dominate. She asked, “Was that all you came here to tell us?”

“And…a letter. From the princess.” He produced it.

Keith took it, eyed it, and passed it to his sister. Acxa sniffed it, to Kinkade’s confusion.

“It’s hers.”

Kinkade arched an eyebrow, fascinated. Keith slipped the letter into his robe. “Who wants Lance dead?”

“It’s easier to tally who doesn’t. The princess, his mother, the Griffins surprisingly—and of course myself.”

Acxa was alarmed. “Not the Rizavi?”

“Old man Rizavi was never as much as half fond of Lance as his youngest was.”

“You made a betting pool out of murdering a man.” Keith bared his teeth. “You’re sick.”

“I just said _I_ didn’t, didn’t I? That aside these are the same old goats who powered and funded the circus since before we were born. Death doesn’t—they’re not _close to it_ like you are. It’s not real in the same way. They don’t understand. To them death is when someone disappears.”

“Am I the only one aware of the irony that the folk calling for change and part of the group who nearly demolished the coliseum have just moved on to other hunting grounds?”

Kinkade’s shoulders drooped but he did not slouch. “The irony isn’t lost on me.”

“Why are _you_ a part of the Coalition?”

“I’m just the face of the Kinkade family.”

Keith, for the first time, felt pity for Ryan. Lance had told him again and again of people among the well-to-do imprisoned by rules and blood ties. When they weren’t restrained by propriety they were restrained by duty to an inherited cause. They could barely choose who to love. Keith stood, “I’ll walk you out.”

Kinkade stood and nodded to Acxa. She stared at him. Kinkade followed Keith out. They were at the gate where Ilun was eyeing him warily. He turned around and met his eyes, stunning and alien. “Yorakeith. Be honest with me.”

Keith tilted his head attentively.

“Was I ever your rival in love?”

He scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Has Lance ever orgasmed on _your_ cock?”

And Kinkade laughed, defeated.

-

Lance was starving and his stomach aching when he returned to his apartments, Shiro warm at his back, and saw Keith packing bags.

“Where are you going?”

Keith didn’t hear him. Lance yanked on his shoulder and signed in his angry face.

“Where leaving with a few of the others tonight.” Keith brushed past him. “Kolivan is going to stay and get the rest of our things in order, mom and Regris are coming with us—”

Lance yanked on his shoulder. “So you’re just packing our things? Without asking me first?”

Keith spun on his heel. He roared: _“What other option is there?!”_

Shiro felt himself flinch and panic.

Lance turned still and glassy. His eyes lidded and his countenance was too smooth. He whispered, “Do not shout at me, Yorakeith.”

Keith shook and Shiro edged forward, concerned that Keith might strike him. His brain replied _that’s impossible_ but he looked and smelled so livid!

He eased forward, knew that his smell was washing over them, and poured his hand over Keith’s naked bicep. His skin was hot and sticky, a touch gross. Shiro moved to his neck, curling a strand of hair behind his ear through a thin film of sweat. Keith’s eyes stayed on Lance’s while his fists still shook, and Lance melted first because Keith began to cry.

He grasped his cheek. “Keith—beta, my beta,” he crooned. “What? What is it?”

Keith’s made up face was red and ugly in Lance’s hands. Lance kept purring, begging to know what was going on, and Shiro could feel himself on the brink of tears as well. He dropped his forehead at the top of Keith’s braid.

When he spoke he slurred around his tears, “Y-you. _You._ Almost. DIED.” He bawled.

Lance shut his eyes. Keith was gripping his sides too hard but he dare not pull away.

“I-ifff I if I,” he sniffed, “if I wasn’t there. Lance. _Lance.”_

Shiro rubbed his eyes in the back of Keith’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, Keith. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“And I m-mm-ma-made you watch—”

Lance pulled back to catch his eyes. “Watch?”

“Watch me kill. I’m sorry. I just—if they _touched_ you—”

Lance shook his head. “You saved my life.”

“The blood—”

Lance swallowed and didn’t bother hide it. The carpet was stained, there was no saving it. “I’ll admit it wasn’t pleasant but you saved my life. _You saved me._ ”

“We have to leave. Please. Please please please. What if—next time—we’re not fast—and someone—”

Shiro caught his jaw. “Breathe. Breath with me. In, out. In. In? In?”

Keith breathed with him.

Lance watched them, one in a panic and the other pretending not to be, and abruptly it became obvious that his next course of action was hardly a choice at all.

-

“Uncle Yorakeith?”

_“I’m your brother.”_

“Look.”

“Look at wha— _!”_ Keith jumped a whole foot in the air. He’d kneeled to be at Lanceria’s height. What he hadn’t expected was to have a whole animal shoved in his face. “Aw _fuck_ you scared me! I’d forgotten we had a mutt.”

Lance sulked and Shiro chuckled and Lanceria screamed with mischievous joy. Krolia called Keith over to talk to him about the language he used in front of her.

The day was growing cooler and Lance pulled up his hood against the cold. He shuffled into Shiro’s side and Shiro held him. The boat loomed high, masts scraping the heavens, and their things were being loaded up. Lance looked over his shoulder.

The sky was grey. Voltron’s places of worship gleamed white. Lance sighed. Now he’d never be able to take his children there to pray with their grandparents. Shiro nudged him.

“Hmm?”

“What is Narquod like?”

“Oh,” Lance forgot to be despondent. He blinked and he grinned. “It’s beautiful. It’s—what do you know about it?”

“Very little. I think I read somewhere that it’s a floating city?”

“Yeah, they built their city on the bay and in neighboring lakes and rivers. The majority of travel is by boat and canal. It’s a _gorgeous_ city, trees everywhere, food stalls and musicians on every corner, and their faith is connected to nature so communal philosophy is grounded in balance and—”

Shiro listened as best he could. His ears faltered when his eyes lingered on Lance’s lips, especially when he licked them to combat the blunt sea breeze. The cloak hid Lance’s body but not his gestures, which sometimes made words and other times just made appropriations of shapes and things. His smell wafted up on one particular jab motion, and Shiro unconsciously leaned forward.

Lance suddenly smacked his belly.

Shiro didn’t move. “Ow?”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re getting me to ramble so I forget all…” he gestured to the air vaguely.

“I also was genuinely interested in what you were saying.”

“Mm. Yeah. That’s why you started smelling horny.”

“I what?”

“I have a shit sense of smell and _I_ can tell.” But he wasn’t offended Shiro wasn’t listening, he seemed flattered.

“Sorry. Unintentional,” Shiro replied slowly. “I’m not usually…”

Lance nudged him, nosing his body. “It smells good. You smell good.”

Shiro blushed.

Keith was sulking as his mother chastised him. Then she said something that made him consider her thoughtfully. Then she was chastising him again.

Regris approached them. Shiro watched him. Regris stopped a whole three feet away. “Little prince.”

“Hm?”

Regris pointed.

There was a figure by the foot of the docks. They had two shadows, a man and woman whose musculature and perfect posture were barely hidden by the hastily borrowed docks worker shirts. They bracketed a slender figure who dropped their cloak, and Shiro quirked his head as his heart lurched, because those were _Lance’s_ eyes and _Lance’s_ hands on a decidedly very feminine body.

Lance bolted out of Shiro’s embrace to tackle her. Shiro and Regris followed, Regris more sedate.

“ _Veronica,”_ they heard Lance sob as he rubbed his cheek in her neck.

She gripped him back just as fiercely under his arms. She wore a lot of bangles too. Hers were wood and gold interchangeably and didn’t rattle like Lance’s did. She pressed her full lips to Lance’s ear and temple and cheek. “I can’t stay long.”

Lance drew back and punched her arm.

“Ow! The shit!”

“That’s _my_ line! What the fuck are y’all doing orchestrating a power takeover and _excluding me?!_ What the fuck is going on?!”

“Are you serious! Lanceria: you’re an informant in your own right, you separated yourself from the de Leone family—”

“What, are you saying you owe me _nothing!?”_

“We respected you as an equal when you went off and bought Zarkon’s Champion. _Zarkon’s Champion, Lance!_ Do you have any idea how everyone reacted when we found out? We were terrified and confused and you told us nothing! We knew you were hatching something—”

“And kept me uninformed!?”

“You could have come to us just as much as we could have come to you—”

“Don’t pull that bullshit, V, Allura’s your fucking _wife._ You couldn’t give me the heads up that she was going to invert the status quo!?”

“Look,” she put up her palm. “I’m not here to fight with you.”

Lance breathed deep and hard. He looked like he wanted to fight plenty.

“I came here to give you a letter from our parents, and Marco, and Luis and his wives, and…and to ensure you were okay.”

Lance stared at the letters. Each envelope was different, each smelled different, each smelled familiar. He stroked his thumb against the coarsest one. “Did you send Kinkade to warn me?”

“Not in so many words but yes. We heard of the betting pool this morning.”

“This _morning?!_ The bastards attacked last night!”

“Then some among us must have hoped a head start will get the drop on you. Look: don’t worry about them anymore. Mommies will deal with them. They’re playing the long game.”

_“Without including me.”_

“You’re saying that like a petulant child. You don’t even recognize that they didn’t intervene because they respect you as an equal.”

“They’re quick to intervene when I fuck up!”

Veronica nodded, in defeat rather than in agreement. “Promise me you’ll write them when you’re less angry?”

“Oh! Is your mailing system going to be functioning flawlessly after the coup?”

She pouted.

He bowed his head and put up a palm. “I’m sorry. I just. It’s been a ridiculous week.”

Veronica opened her arms in offering. He didn’t hesitate to fall against her breast. “Be safe, Lanceria.”

“You too. Pick your battles.”

“I should be telling _you_ that! Going up singlehandedly against the entire Coalition—”

“It would have worked if your _wife—_ speaking of why did she send a letter with Kinkade instead of with you?”

Veronica blinked. “She did?”

Krolia appeared, nodding to Veronica. “Little prince. We need to go.”

A grief unlike any other he’d cycled through since the day began seized him. It was total and now the reality of what he was doing bore down on him. He had dreams to redesign Voltron, to make it into a safe haven. It was a bucket of cold water to think he wasn’t the first to think this way or execute the same ideas.

King Zarkon had done Lance’s play by play to the letter before Lance was even born: he had spent his life trying to make Voltron a better place. Was that even the full story? But the parallels were clear. Now Allura, part Arrussian part Marmora part Altean, was ushering in a new age at the leadership of the benefactors from the old age. But the pieces were wrong. The corruption was still intact. Lance could see it, his mothers could see it.

But Lance had just enough power to change it such that he and his family were being driven out like rats from the warehouse rafters.

Veronica squeeze him tight. Lance held her, wondering what to say, what were the right words to pass on to his parents, his siblings—she slipped out of his hands and line of sight and not one appropriate word came to mind.

-

_Lance,_

_If you ever have the urge to visit Terran, find a woman named Merla. She owes a debt to me. She’ll see me in you. Call my name and she’ll take you by boat anywhere you want to go and back._

_What can I say? We all did this badly. Dad’s mad as hell at moms if that’s any consolation, but none of us are happy how things turned out. We could have done better by you. I think in a way moms were watching you for what you’d do next. You weren’t like the rest of us, you know? You went into_ their _trade. That marked you different on their radar than how we were marked. Rach thinks it’s a compliment. Luis decked her._

_We know you’ll reach Narquod safe. Your niece and nephew say hi._

_We’re sorry._

_Your brother Marco._

The room that Keith, Shiro and Lance would be staying in was one of the smaller ones with a bunk that barely fit them all. It seemed that the most feasible way to sleep would be either to pile together on the floor or lie on top of one another on the bed.

Lance was concerned their current arrangement would deny Shiro his much needed moments of solitude. For the short week it would take them to get to Narquod he promised to be fine and snuggled into Lance’s side while he perused his correspondence.

“Mrrp,” Shiro asked.

Lance reached down where Shiro’s face was hidden in the crook of his thigh and belly. His short hair was nice but Lance missed pulling his fingers through rivers of his silk. “Hm?”

“You alright?”

Lance put the letter aside. “No.”

Before Shiro could ask again Lance switched off the overhead bulb and shuffled. In the space of time it took their eyes to acclimate to the moonlight refracting off the water through the singular porthole, Lance was laying on his side facing him. Lance grasped the side of his face and swallowed his mouth.

His kisses, if they could be called that, were irresistible. They were messy and open and his sharp, needle canines drew blood almost immediately. Shiro moaned, receptive to Lance’s urgency, hoping to be used and useful. He sighed when Lance’s legs slot through his and when his hands palmed his pectorals. Shiro held Lance’s jaw and cupped his ear and tilted his head to lick the top of his mouth. Gross, yawning, loud, chaotic was their kiss. There was no romance.

Shiro pulled back. Lance lurched forward. Shiro asked, “Should we talk about what you’re pissed about?”

“No,” Lance grunted. “Later,” his voice cracked.

“What do you need?”

“Comfort?”

And they kissed and touched each other until they got bored.

Keith was there when they woke up, squeezed between Shiro’s bicep and the wall, his leg thrown over Shiro’s leg and an arm thrown over Lance’s waist. Lance was drooling on Shiro’s clavicle.

“Gross.” Keith rubbed it away. He jumped at the unpredicted quake of Shiro’s laughter, “ _Fuck._ You scared me. I thought you were asleep.”

“You woke me.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

They watched each other. Keith pressed their foreheads together.

“Hmm. You smell nice this morning.” He grasped the back of Keith neck and stroked his long, knotted hair.

“Different than any other morning?”

“No. Just more.”

The sense of normalcy between them was a glass house in the howling wind of upheaval. Shiro thought of Lance’s letters and said nothing. Keith worried his nails he thought still smelled of blood and said nothing. Lance snuffled.

“Mom said alpha have better noses than the rest of us. I believe her. Once I was paired with Kolivan on a capture mission. A young couple eloped and their mothers pooled their resources to hire us. Kolivan tracked them by scent alone. I only got wind of them when we were almost right on them, but that was because of all the blood.”

“Were they okay?”

“One of them was sick. They encountered a hippo and got on the wrong end of it.”

“A _hippo?”_

“A hippopotamus? Big, fat mammals, mostly stay in water—”

“No, I know what a hippo _is_ what was a hippo doing _here?!”_

“Outside of Voltron is wild jungle and untamed river. There’s more wildlife out there than we know.”

“So…were they alive?”

“The one that got bitten passed away shortly after we returned her. The other was made to marry someone else.”

“Sad ending.”

“I guess.” His fingers ran through Shiro’s damp chest hair. “What struck me was how Kolivan honed in on them like a bloodhound. I have good eyes and I’m a pretty good tracker—mom taught me herself—but it would have taken me twice as long to find them. I always wished for an alpha nose.”

“I’m sure that’s just Kolivan. He strikes me as half man half something ancient and wise.”

“You mean _old.”_

Shiro grinned and Keith chuckled. “That too, but I was thinking along the lines of spiritual.”

“You haven’t met the oldest of our group have you?” Shiro shook his head. “Their sense of smell is _prophetic._ My father—that’s Antok—says he hates when his mother sniffs him whenever he’s pregnant. And it’s always weeks before he’s sure his cycle stopped. And she _never_ tells him.”

Shiro impulsively dropped his nose in Lance’s hair.

Keith laughed soundlessly. “What do you hope to find?”

“I feel like I’d know it if I smell it.”

“What? Didn’t catch that.”

Shiro didn’t repeat, focused on scenting him. He smelled predictably like all of them. He smelled a little of dinner last night and saliva. He smelled of linen and leather. In his sweat, he smelled like Keith—he expected as much given their bond.

Keith hummed curiously.

“I can’t tell.”

“We only had sex four days ago.”

“It’s too early?”

Keith chuckled, “I think so, yes.”

Shiro blushed. “I knew that.”

“Mhm.”

“…maybe we should try again?”

Keith grinned wider. “Are you going into rut, Shiro? Or are you naturally this horny?”

Shiro made an amused purr. Lance’s head shook with it. “To be honest I don’t remember.” He closed his eyes as Keith combed his fingers through his cowlicks.

The pink sunrise brightened.

Keith shifted. “I have to go. I’m on kitchen duty.”

“I can help around the ship too—” but Keith was shaking his head.

“We have enough hands, thank you. And I’d much prefer you keep an eye on Lance. He got the rug pulled out from under him and he hasn’t crashed yet.”

Shiro squeezed Lance’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“Thank you, alpha.” He kissed Shiro (suddenly very pleased and very pliant, was this the first time Keith called him alpha?) gently on the mouth and left.

Lance let out a sigh.

“You’re awake?”

“Mm.”

“For how long?”

“Mn,” he turned into Shiro’s chest. “I’m okay, y’know. Keith’s just a worrywart.”

“It’s okay to not be okay too.”

“Hm,” he answered.

-

_Dear Lance,_

_The House of Rizavi own stock in the Narquod Tea Company. The House of Sanda have investments in the Balmera salt mines. The House of Griffin own the sugar plantations circumventing Olkarion, and the Kinkades have a merger planned for the future. See attached for the investments and properties of outstanding Houses._

_Should you find yourself on the windward side of Garden Street, a small haberdashery is run by a woman with a blood red comb in her hair. If you whisper the third line fourth stanza of Boh Bi’s finest poem, she will have prepared for you the foundation for forging a new industry._

_Not another blade or pistol will be leveled at your head._

_May the wind be bracing._

_The Countess and Lady de Leone._

Lance turned the letter on its back and committed the names of the people who sanctioned his murder, lovingly written in his mothers’ impeccable script, to memory. Then he crushed it.

Shiro startled from his duty of playing lazy footsie with Lance’s unresponsive toes. “What are you doing!?”

Lance didn’t answer.

-

Shiro cornered Keith to ask him why he was avoiding Lance.

Keith interrupted, “If you’re _here_ who’s with him?”

“Regris.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“You didn’t answer me.” Shiro let his bulk crowd Keith in. It wasn’t his intention to intimidate—in fine Keith was scarier than he was at the moment if his glare was anything to go by—“ _Are_ you avoiding Lance?”

Keith scowled a little. “Smell me.”

Shiro ducked his nose to Keith’s neck without further prompt.

“ _No_ , you horny bastard. My hands.”

Shiro took one of Keith’s hand in his own, hard and callous and feminine, and sniffed. He recoiled as bleach and lime flooded his palate. He frowned. Keith did not smell like that yesterday. He searched Keith’s eyes.

Keith flapped his hands (like Lance) but caught himself. His eyes were intent. He whispered, “Don’t tell Lance.”

“No promises.”

“ _Shiro.”_

“I will not help you keep secrets from him. I don’t care how heavy your stare is.”

Keith relaxed his glower. “Got you wrapped around his finger, huh?”

“As do you,” and he recaptured his hand and kissed his fingers, right on top of the third knuckles. His eyes never fell away from Keith’s. Keith pulled away with a blush and a hiss. “What happened?”

“I uh. Sometimes I smell blood on my hands when I wake up.”

Shiro frowned. “Nightmares?”

“I keep smelling the woman who almost killed him.”

Lance, oblivious, was chatting amiably with Regris who sat shirtless beside him. They were trading one of Lance’s puzzles back and forth.

“Look at him. Does he think that if he flexes his muscles that Lance’ll start drooling all over him? Asshole. _Juvenile._ If that would work then Lance would jump Acxa. Or Kolivan. Or my mother. Not that he hasn’t tried already—”

“You should talk to him.”

A gaggle of their kids lead by the nose by that silly black puppy ran around Lance and Regris in a haphazard circle. They invented games as they went.

Keith’s brow pinched.

“You know he would want you to.”

Keith worked his mouth. His hands said, “I know.”

Shiro took his hand. “Thank you for telling me.” Keith tried to pull away but Shiro wouldn’t let him. He kissed his knuckle. Her murmured something. Keith pointed at his ear. Shiro repeated, “I understand. Sometimes I’m back in the arena.”

“I don’t…think it’s the same. You had to hurt because you _had_ to.”

“So did you, to protect him.”

“I’d do anything for him. I’d do it again.”

“Is it the smell of that woman that haunts you? Or is it the fear that she’d gotten so close?”

Keith didn’t answer. He sniffed his fingernails.

“I’ll help you wash up. Come.” And he took Keith’s hand and led him into the narrow, cramped hallways leading to their narrow, cramped room. But here, dark and swaying, Keith found the ability to breathe again. Shiro sat him on the bench and wedged a ceramic plated tin bowl between his knees. He kneeled on the floor and softly and diligently he took a small brush to Keith’s taut fingers. Keith traced the grain of Shiro’s hair with his eyes.

He was far gentler than Keith had been when scrubbing his hands raw. What was it about an alpha taking care of him—no, of his _lover_ taking care of him that made him feel vulnerable? He’d barely flinched when he found that woman’s jugular but now he felt as thin as a glass pane before a hurricane. Shiro furtively sniffed Keith’s thumb.

Keith pressed his lips to the top of Shiro’s hair. Shiro tilted his head up in inquiry. Keith replied with a kiss to his mouth.

“Am I clean?”

Shiro, drugged, had started climbing into his lap. “Uh-huh.”

It took a little stretching to move the bowl out of the way of Shiro’s searing kisses, his teeth unbuttoning Keith’s shirt, his body tipping him into the bed…

Shiro was heavy and rutting Keith’s parted thighs. They were still clothed. Keith felt his arousal wane and flow in his belly and throat as a comfortable heat. Shiro mumbled praises against his scarred bondmark. The gland beneath was growing wet, enflamed in the presence of interested alpha.

Shiro sucked beneath his ear with a heavy pant and rolled his erection at the perfect angle: Keith melted, hands oozing down to grasp Shiro’s ass, manipulating him to chafe his budding cock again and again. The rumbles on their skin were lovely. His tongue in his ear gross and sublime.

Keith released a half-bitten squeal when he noticed Lance was in the room watching them undulate like they were something fascinating discovered under the rock in the backyard garden. Shiro barely reacted.

Keith’s words were awkward around the broad of Shiro’s back. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Lance kneeled on the floor and folded his arms on the corner of the mattress. He sighed.

Shiro smelled him or felt him or something because he turned just enough to squash their noses in greeting before he returned to panting in Keith’s ear.

Keith tilted his head back in the pillow with a soft moan. Lance licked his lips. “I’ve never,” he waited until Keith saw the movement, “I’ve never really noticed how gorgeous he is when he moves like this.”

Keith nodded absently.

“Should I help you undress?”

Keith nodded absently. His cock was starting to hurt more and more it protested against the tight material of his enclosed pants. Shiro whined when Lance separated them, placating him with a soft kiss. Lance made quick work of Shiro’s ties and Keith’s sashes. No sooner had he retreated did Shiro fall upon Keith again and they both warbled on the end of a single, artful fuck.

Lance’s inside omega _keened_ at the sound. He loved the sound and sight and smell of the people who had dominion over him loving each other. He experienced the rustling of their half-undone clothes, the bob of Keith’s boots in the air, the thick wet slap of Shiro’s body puncturing Keith’s, the near inaudible whine from Keith’s throat, the flush on his forehead, the pink in Shiro’s ears, his grunts, the way the swell of his back crested and fell each time he succumbed to Keith’s body like a servant succumbing to the whims of their master—

Lance’s hand tore into his skirt. Lips in his teeth, he rubbed himself raw while his lovers, his pack, moved smooth as the waves, the bed creaking. Around the clap of their clothes were the smacks of overcharged kisses.

Shiro leaned over to sweep Lance up in a sloppy kiss, cold from his sweat, and Lance was lurched off balance and grasped the side of the bed.

Keith grunted, urging Shiro to go faster. “A little harder. Please.”

Shiro pressed his forehead to Lance’s for a breath. He fell onto Keith again, blanketing him with his body, got a healthy grasp of his posterior then worked his hips and lower back hard.

Keith’s legs snapped into a coiled vice about Shiro’s wide waist and he grunted reflexively. He dug in his nails and Shiro purred his assent. Their control was thin.

Keith’s sharp teeth cut into his own lips instead of the enticing perfume wafting from Shiro’s flesh. He was right there, right there, unclaimed and willing. _Gods_ Keith wanted.

Shiro’s stupid fat cock dragged his orgasm out of him. It was as abrupt and short as his shout. He didn’t stop. Keith whined.

“Sorry,” Shiro said for the first time, voice haggard, voice black, _rich,_ slurring, and Lance flinched in pleasure. “Can’t stop—yet—”

Lance grasped the bedsheets and came on his hand. Shiro, generally reserved and quiet, delirious and possessed by sex was his undoing.

Twelve messy thrusts later Keith was knotted and a new arousal was swirling in his belly.

Somehow Shiro’s skin was cool to the touch. Keith had found himself overheating. Shiro’s teeth, perfect and marvelous, scraped on the right nicks and bends of his oozing gland. He made no move to stop his alpha from claiming him and felt weirdly put out when he only got a kiss on his throat instead.

Lance breathed deeply in his folded arms. He watched them. Keith pursed his lips and tilted his chin and Lance replied by leaning forward and licking his bottom lip.

Shiro looked up from his work bruising Keith’s throat. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips swollen.

“You alright, Shiro?”

“Mm. Mhn.” He sighed into Lance’s short kiss. He licked Lance’s lip. He licked into his mouth.

“Easy easy.” Kiss kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shiro huffed. “I…” his voice cracked. “I want you to. Uhm.”

Keith petted Shiro’s cold, wet pecs.

Lance murmured assurances. “Take your time, alpha.”

“May I…I’d like you to…I’d like your mouth, if that’s okay. Uh—not _now,_ but…”

Lance’s eyes widened and his lips parted. Keith met his eyes. Lance whispered, “I…I would be honored, Shiro.”

Shiro flashed a lovesick, shy, boyish grin that made his lovers’ hearts hiccup, and grasped and kissed Lance in broad strokes that made them all moan.

-

_Lance,_

_I love you fiercely._

_You have always been my dearest friend and you always will. Fate willing, we will be able to exchange only the fondest of memories in the near future._

_I heard through the grapevine that you are trying for a child. I prayed for you. I found a fertility charm and had it blessed for you. When you wear it, anoint it with juniberry oil once every morning. The ritual is supposed to place the mind in a calm state to begin each day with control and peace. That aside, I think the smell very fetching against your natural scent._

_I know that you must be very cross with me for not laying my cards on the table from the beginning. You will hate me for saying so: you were one of my competitors. I used you. I used you to see Throk impeached and Sendak in poverty. If it is any consolation, you are not the only one I used this way. I used Senator Sendak to get rid of Quartermaster Jenka. I used my fathers to send Ranveig to the northeast rather than his incompetent brother._

_If it is any consolation, you are not the only man of old money I’ve run from Voltron. If it is any consolation, you are the only one among them that I love._

_I could not have people with too much money and power and properties in this city while I redesigned its structure. As it is, it is minnows who follow me and believe they are ushering in a new age of prosperity where they will be kings. I will be cruel as the first Allura was and use them too._

_Whatever history will remember me as, be it savior or tyrant, I want you to remember that I love you. Hate me as you like, believe anything else, but my friendship with you was true and genuine and never part of this game._

_I wish you and your family peace and happiness._

_Allura._

Lance peered through the porthole. By his estimate they would make landfall in another few days. The sky smelled of rain and the ship was cold and lurched every which way. It made him anxious. He was fond of storms and the sea—despite his nausea—and he was annoyed that he was demoted to confinement waiting for the storm to pass. He understood that it was for his own safety. He understood that private time with a strong, patient alpha was a luxury. At the same time his heart was in Voltron.

“Are you alright?”

Lance hummed distractedly. He heard the bedsheets shuffle.

“Lance?”

“What?”

“Are you alright? You’ve been staring out the window since—” he broke off, eyeing the studiously resealed letter that was now pressed between two books at the foot of the bunk.

“Did you still want that blowjob?”

Shiro jerked. Lance was upon him in three brisk strides. Abruptly diffident, Shiro recoiled.

Lance halted at the burst of anxiety in his smell and posture. He frowned and resisted the urge to kneel as a form of submission. He sunk into the mattress instead. “Did you change your mind?”

Shiro screwed his eyes closed. “No.”

“What did I do that made you panic?”

Shiro shook his head.

“Was I too fast? Too abrupt?”

Shiro shook his head.

Lance swallowed his frustration. “I just want to _help._ I can’t understand what I did wrong if you don’t talk to me.”

Shiro hesitated long enough that Lance decided to give up on him. Then he blurted: “When the senator used to play with me he got on his knees and did as he liked.”

Lance stilled body and mind. There was gravity to what Shiro just said. It didn’t stick at once. Several words and several images flickered through his head. He asked, “I remind you of the senator?”

“No!”

“But I did just now.”

“N-no.”

“Would you prefer Keith?”

“ _No.”_

Lance didn’t understand. “Do you feel like you don’t have a choice with me?”

“No, Lance.”

“I’ve made it clear that you don’t owe either me or Keith anything, haven’t I? You’re not with us because you feel that you have to pay us back with your body, do you?”

“What? No,” Shiro winced, he _used_ to think that, yes, “ _no_.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Lance,” Shiro half chuckled half beseeched, “why would I willingly confine myself on a boat with you and your family if I didn’t want to be here?”

Lance didn’t think. “To get out of Voltron.”

Shiro blinked. His lips parted and then they pressed together. He exhaled and rubbed his fingers and looked away from Lance’s blank eyes. “Wow,” he muttered. He smacked his lips and they moved wide. “Okay.” He got up.

Lance felt himself panicking but his face still felt glassy and his elbows locked in place. “Where are you going?”

Shiro didn’t answer. He closed the door a little too firmly.

-

“What happened? Shiro’s pissed.”

Lance hummed distractedly.

“What’s going on?”

Lance pointed to the letters on the table.

“These are the letters your family and Allura sent?”

Lance nodded.

“You want me to read them?”

Lance nodded.

Keith frowned. He hated reading. He squinted and mouthed through the harder words. He sat at Lance’s legs, letters in his lap, forehead on Lance’s knee. When he was mouthing through Allura’s letter, he smelled under his nails. They smelled of lime.

At the same time he was finished Lance joined him on the floor.

“I’m going to tell you what I understand from these letters, is that okay?”

Lance nodded.

“The one that your mothers sent is just a bunch of names and somewhere to go if you’re low on funds, right?”

“The names are the people who wanted me out of Voltron.”

“You mean the people who wanted you dead.”

Lance’s lips moved like he swallowed a lime.

“And the one your brother sent you is an apology and free passage from Narquod, if you want to.”

Lance nodded.

“And the one from the princess,” Keith frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Lance plucked the letter from his hands, leaving Keith with a papercut. “Allura used me.”

“I thought she was your friend.”

Lance blinked. The letter fell away in his slack wrist.

“She’s the reason the Coalition were so successful right?” Voltron was likely in the middle of riots and revolt as they spoke.

Lance nodded vacantly.

“I don’t understand. Princess Allura _and_ Ryan Kinkade _and_ your parents were involved in this huge conspiracy to reform Voltron in their image…and they excluded you?”

Lance nodded vacantly.

Keith scoffed. “No offense but you have shit taste in friends and family.”

His attempt at humor ran hollow though. Lance ducked his head and held the letter. He held it too hard and the edge began to crinkle. “Allura used me to further her agenda. My mothers considered me their rival before they considered me their son. These are my friends and family. These are the people who raised me. What does that say about the person _I_ am?”

Keith clicked his tongue and signed, but Lance was looking away. “Please look at me.”

Lance looked at Keith’s knee.

“You and your folks are not cut from the same cloth, Lanceria.”

“Rich hearing _you_ say that of all people.” It was hard to read Lance. His face was plain and his lips barely moved. Keith squinted.

“ _Please_ face me. I can barely understand you.”

Lance turned to him and defaulted to his hands, gestures sharp and clean such that each word was a slap to the face. Keith recoiled. “You called me manipulative. You said I did it without thinking. I did it without thinking because my mothers and Allura and everyone I’ve ever known manipulated each other. We kept trying to one up one another. It came naturally to us as breathing. It was how we communicated. And it was how they communicated until the very end. And they won. They won this big, messy game of manipulation and redirection and lies. They beat me. And now Voltron is paying for it. And you’re paying for it.”

Keith shook his head. “You’re not making sense. You’re angry and confused.”

“ _Fuck_ yeah I’m angry!”

“What did you say to Shiro?”

Lance grit his detracted teeth. “I asked him why he was here with us.”

Keith straightened. “Lance. What exactly did you say to Shiro?”

Lance told him, and Keith told him that was fucked up, and Lance replied with his face in his knees, “I know.”

-

When Lance woke up he had his nose to Keith’s marred gland and the familiar reliability of Shiro’s body behind him. He turned in surprise. Shiro’s eyes, dim from sleep, focused on his. “Shiro—”

Shiro shook his head. “Later,” he whispered. His voice broke.

Lance insisted, “I’m sorry.”

Shiro’s eyes softened a little bit. He ducked his head and shuffled closer. “Later, Lance.”

Lance reclined. He fell asleep with Keith's snores at his throat and Shiro's restless snuffling at his neck.


	11. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slow chapter of talking.

Narquod smelled different. Shiro didn’t get the chance to share his opinion with the others. They hit land in the dead of night and they were expected: a woman no-one but Lance knew came to greet them. She kissed Lance on both his cheeks. “Good night, little brother,” she whispered in the sly, susurrant language of the new land. “My condolences.”

Lance murmured in return, squeezed her shoulder, and made vague introductions.

Quickly and rapidly their belongings and children were paraded down the wharf onto three shallow boats prepared in a canal and manned by four oarsmen each. Like so they were paddled up into unfamiliar darkness.

The stars disappeared and reappeared around the silhouettes of unfamiliar trees. Children complained from distant lit windows that were hardly windows at all—where Voltron had shutters, here they simply had a rectangular hole in the wall for folk to stick their head out and gauge the weather. Music in an unfamiliar language painted the air. It curled and teased and the refugees listened, uncomprehending.

The oarsmen stopped one hour after the lights from families and shops that had yet to retire for the night had disappeared for a good while, and only owls and insects and water sounded off. Keith had been sitting restlessly, looking about eagerly, but he was the first one to mention the plaza coming up on their left.

“I don’t see anything,” Shiro grumbled.

“You don’t have Yorakeith’s eyes,” Krolia said. When Keith stood and leapt from the boat Shiro flinched, bracing for the sound of a body hitting the water, but it never came. Instead there were grassy footsteps that faded away. “He’ll scout ahead.”

One by one lights appeared in the near distance. It was Keith, lighting the lanterns of their new home. Grandfathers roused their babies and Lance’s silly little dog began kicking up a fuss in excitement. The oarsmen lashed the boats to the side of the canal and the Marmora unloaded.

It was not the opulent complex from Voltron, but it had a similar design of a central courtyard and rooms running in a square around it sheltered by an overhanging roof. Leaves decorated the green, patterned tiles of the courtyard and every room smelled dusty and unused. Everyone’s weary shuffling echoed.

“We have more yard space,” Lance volunteered to no-one in particular. His voice was unnaturally bright and bounced off the empty walls. “The orchard at the back is ours. There’s plenty of space to expand.”

“We aren’t complaining, little prince,” Regris squished his cheek to Lance’s hair in a facsimile of a hug.

Keith appeared out of nowhere to kick him. “Stop flirting with my husband.”

Their routine brought a sense of normalcy to their abrupt move, and as such, the space was christened. Shoulders relaxed and exhaustion set in.

A rough clean-up was performed in the largest room where everyone would be sleeping together. It was defensible and it was familiar. As Keith bedded down after helping Lanceria and her ilk wash their faces and hands, he heard one of their elders recalling stories of his childhood, how the Marmora used to sleep together not unlike this. Keith saw Shiro’s wide eyes dilated and glittering in the dark. He was captivated by baa’s storytelling weathered voice.

Keith swooped in for a kiss.

The loud smack distracted Shiro and set off the nearby toddler into a giggling fit.

Shiro reached for him and Keith forgot to finish bedding down, instead he curled against his alpha’s breast. Shiro tapped his shoulder before he dozed off and touched each ear lobe.

“Probably off cheating on me with my cousin. He’s fine.”

Shiro frowned and shifted to rise and find him. He pouted and his upper lip curled vaguely when he was belayed by Keith’s firm hand against his sternum. It dissolved when Keith licked the hollow of his throat in a short, chaste, placating swipe.

“Sleep, alpha. We’ll work all that out later, yeah?”

Shiro, unhappy, settled. Someone bedded down at his back and someone else behind his knees. It was suffocating. He was disquieted, but fatigue won out in the end.

He woke up to the sound of children screaming. He startled, though Keith’s weight had him pinned down. Air mites glittered in the air through the “window” with a plain grass blind for privacy. Footsteps thundered past the doorway, which was covered by a similar screen, and was accompanied by calls to _get back here or else_ and the rambunctious yelping of Lance’s puppy. The room was still half full and smelled of sleep and skin. He braced on his elbow and Keith didn’t wake.

“Keith?” He nuzzled his neck, nosed his hairline, licked his lips and mouthed his bondmark. “Wake up.”

“What _what_ you’re incessant what,” he croaked.

“It’s morning.” But Keith’s eyes were closed. He didn’t see him. Shiro poked his nose to his cheek.

“Goaway.”

“But—”

“I love you but go away lest there be blood.”

Shiro offered a sad chirp and Keith clumsily pet his nose for the trouble, but he turned over and slept like the dead, leaving Shiro alone. With heavy reluctance, Shiro drew away.

In the light of the day their new complex was in much rougher shape than initial appearances, but clearly effort had been made between last night and now to change it from a building into a home. The leaves and dirt had been swept from the courtyard and the plants in the gutters of the overhang had been cleared. Still, the mottled yellow walls were in need of a strip and repaint, and there was the abject lack of being _lived in._

Acxa was busy wrangling screaming children. Krolia hailed him. The skin around her eyes were bruised but her bare arms and forehead were sticky with perspiration. “Good morning, Shiro.”

“Good morning, Krolia,” calling her by name felt awkward given that he was bedding her son, but she never made a move to correct him. She grinned a little. “Ready for the new day?”

“You plan on putting me to work?”

“Only a little. We found some big drums that we plan on setting up to collect runoff. We also have a well out back and I need an extra hand to pull up water. May I make use of you?”

“Of course.” Inevitably, on his way through a room smelling of old ash, he asked, “Where’s Lance?”

Krolia didn’t hide her reflexive grin as well as she thought she did. “The little prince went out with Regris to source us basic amenities. We expect him back within the hour: he told us to get the kitchen ready so I expect he’ll be bringing back food. Vrek and Ilun aside he’s the only one among us who can haggle in Narquodian.”

Shiro nodded absently and ignored the itch under his skin. The backyard was expansive. There were five awkward rows of trees that disappeared into the middle distance crisscrossed with overgrown bush. Each tree at a glance was different and mature. He didn’t recognize most, but all were evergreens and one had become host to a noisy flock of parrots arguing over who got access to the bananas. The feet of the trees were undermaintained from years of fruit dropping and rotting. The well was a circle of cold grey stone so drowned by grass and weeds he almost completely walked past.

“Does the mechanism work?”

“Let’s see.” She pulled the crank. There was an ominous creak, but soon they had a pail of clear glistening water. They both took deep draughts and sighed, refreshed.

“Smells fine, tastes good.”

“Let’s fill these,” she gestured to the vats aside. “We’ll roll them into the courtyard later.”

“Right.”

They worked in silence for a while. Acxa approached with a naked baby cousin under one arm and a train of children behind her.

Krolia hailed her.

“Morning, auntie.”

“Morning. Why were they screaming this morning?”

“They found the cat.”

“The what?”

“We had a stowaway.” Acxa pointed, and Shiro recognized Red the semi-domesticated feline from Lance’s patio sitting on the kitchen window ledge well out of the way of the black puppy trying to scale the wall and greet her.

Acxa ensured each child had their fill, and then she told them to bring water to their grandparents. The children obediently made a game out of it.

“Do they even recognize their lives have been uprooted?” Shiro wondered.

“I’m sure it’s an adventure to them,” Krolia grinned. Her muscles flexed as she pulled up the pail once more.

“Let me relieve you.”

“You can manage?”

“It’s awkward, not undoable.”

“Have at it then.”

And he worked, and he worked sedately, careful not to tire himself out. Krolia’s eyes flickered between the perilous dark of the well, the echoing sound of water sloshing, and her son’s lover.

“May I ask a personal question?” Some fear must have shown in his expression. “ _Relax,_ love. It’s not some sort of shovel talk.”

Shiro grunted, rolling his whole body with the crank. “What is it?”

“I was curious why you’ve been resisting your bonds with Keith and Lance.”

Shiro frowned. The pail touched sunlight and Krolia reached for it. She tipped the water into a waiting drum. _Vwoosh_ the water said as it fell inside. She used that water to rinse it clean, but only a dust and flakes of chipped glaze fell away.

Shiro wiped his brow. “I’m…not sure I understand. A bond was never in the original agreement.”

“A bond never is,” she sighed.

“I won’t force something that we never agreed to.”

“You like them.” It was not a question. “Why do you hate that you like them?”

“I don’t hate that I like them.” His brow was pinched as he took a moment to consider. It was with a new voice and sharp punctuation that he said, “I just don’t think that I should trust feelings that are only one month old.”

“Is that all?”

Shiro stared at nothing in particular. He did not move until the pail hit the water at the bottom. Then he flexed. He grunted when the pail was within her reach again. Finally: “Don’t think little of me?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

She frowned at him, glorious arms akimbo.

“I have choices. I can go back to Terran and rebuild the pieces. I can go to my husband and his family and the Holts and live with them. I can stay here and l-love Keith and Lance.” She gracefully gave no outward reaction to his stutter. He still felt his ears warm. “But I can’t choose all three. I don’t even think I’d be happy even if I had the ability to choose all three knowing what I know now.”

“What do you know now?”

“That the Empire is fallible. That the mechanics of a civilization that had broken me and mine can be upended by a single individual. I know now that the world is a lot smaller than I thought it was, and somehow being next to Lance is a way to see that. He’s opened up opportunities for me that I’ve never dreamed of taking. And Keith is—” he stopped, eyeing her warily.

She smiled tactfully.

He blushed a little. “He understands me. I don’t understand how but the things he says, the way he moves, it’s effortless. It’s so easy to fall into his embrace and laugh with him. Lance took getting used to but Keith I feel I’ve known my whole life. But he’s so devout to Lance and his cause. It’s intimidating. I’m wary to be a part of that.”

“In what way? Of being loved like that? Of loving like Keith?”

He blew out a sigh. “I’m an old man, Krolia. I’m closer in age to you than I am to your son. I don’t fit between them.”

“It’s _age_ that worries you?” She guffawed. “Oh please. _Kolivan_ was sweet on Lance for the longest time.”

Shiro blinked. “Fine. But he didn’t act on it now did he.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “Did he?”

Krolia didn’t hide her amused grin. “Easy. He’s not your rival in love.”

Shiro blinked rapidly, turning away from her, and the colour in the thin flesh of his ears betrayed him anew.

She laughed, “Easy, kit. I understand. We alphas we like to protect our own. You’ve imprinted on them it’s clear as day, and its mutual. They’ve only had eyes for you from day one. That’s how we gave you your name even.”

“My name?”

Krolia made a hook with her index finger and swiped it horizontally across her face.

Shiro touched his scar spanning his cheeks and the bridge of his nose self-consciously.

“No,” and her eyes widened in horror, “that’s not at all how we meant it. Is that how you interpreted it this whole time? Why hadn’t you told us? No, that’s not it at all. It’s a pantomime of a hook grabbing the eyes, or grabbing one’s attention. We came up with it because every time you were in the room or walked past, Keith and Lance would stare at you and drop whatever it was they were doing or saying.”

Shiro squirmed, flattered and warmed and pleased. Krolia laughed at his expense, and then again when he stole the pail from her irritably and lowered it into the well himself.

“If it’s reciprocal feelings you are scared of, you don’t need to be.”

“It’s their intensity. They’re young and…a-and _passionate_. I’m a little ahead of the curve. Lance has his mission to change the world and the tools to do it, Keith has his role among the Blades and as Lance’s staunch supporter, but what do I have? My individuality was beaten out of me and I don’t know what to do or how to find myself again.” He chuckled a little. “I sound pathetic—”

Softly, “You don’t.”

“I have nothing to offer them. I don’t have anything for myself, and I believe it’s irresponsible to invest in them while I feel this way.” With a self-chiding chuff, “I don’t understand what they see in me. What value is there in a depressed, broken alpha?”

Krolia offered him a smile brighter than the mood might have afforded. “Why not ask them?”

Shiro blushed in humiliation.

“I’m sure their answer will surprise you. And it might be a fine way to segue into what the three of you plan to do for your rut.”

Shiro lost his hold on the crank and the pail clattered to the bottom of the well. “Beg pardon?”

-

Regris bowed his head in reverence when Lance kneeled before another amalgam of little houses.

There were dozens of miniature complexes scattered across the city. Some were made of stone and in poor repair with moss growing over them and birds and squirrels taking up residence, and some were attached to the façade of houses decked out in opulent detail. His favourite so far had been a multi-tiered little mansion as tall as he was with numerous railings and verandahs and walkways and little lanterns smaller than his thumbnail that swung in the mildest breeze.

“Shrines attached to someone’s shop or home are usually so that their ancestors have a place to rest. When someone dies, a little room is built for them. Sometimes that room is attached to a grander work or left on their tomb. More often than not it’s made out of something edible, to represent their loved one passing on but living in their living family members.”

“Who eats them?”

“I remember it depends, but I don’t know.”

“So why are these ones made of stone?”

“These ones are made for the first ancestors, the spirits of the land, the ones that cause the rain or grow food. Little houses made for the spirits of the land are made from stone because they were here before we came and they’ll be here after we die.” Lance rose from his kneel.

Regris’ eyes watched the muscles ripple in his exposed back. He was wearing a halter top, apparently in the mood to air out his bondmark. Regris wondered if it was to ward off Regris as much as it was to ward off otherwise interested beta and alpha. He asked, “I thought you had a different faith.”

“I do, but we’re in Narquod now. It seems proper to pay respects to the spirits that exist here.” He watched the tumbled, stone little houses, each able to fit in his palm, quiet and quaint at the side of the canal. “I’ll pray to my God all the same, but Narquodian faith isn’t as…stiff as Altean belief. I like it.”

“Are you allowed to pray to more than one god?”

“Who’s going to stop me?”

“God?”

Lance chuckled but didn’t answer.

He shifted Lance’s shopping from one shoulder to the other. “Are we done for the day?”

Lance gave him a quelling look.

Regris sighed. “Then where are we going next?”

So Lance loped them into a winding road that housed shop after shop after shop. Their merchandize of rings and china and cutlery were half spilling out into the street. Regris tripped over a display of shoes and ducked under someone belting out _“roast peanuts roast peanuts!”_ Lance bought peanuts from him to help him shut up.

“What do you think of this, Reggie?”

“It’s a scarf.”

“How astute.”

“We live in the tropics, what use do you have for a scarf?”

“Maybe I just want to give my alpha something nice.”

Regris pouted melodramatically. “You cannot buy his affections, Lance. He’s not Keith.”

Lance knocked his shoulder. “Rude.”

Regris grinned at him, and it looked a little primal what with his scars broadening his smile and showing off more pink gums than normal.

“I’m not _buying_ his anything. I just want to give him nice things.”

Pouting, “You don’t buy _me_ nice things.”

Lance grabbed a random hat and flung it on his head. “Happy?”

“Incandescently.”

“You look ridiculous.” He bought the hat.

The wind wafting off the water and through the shadows was cold and the sun stung their skins. The air smelled off outside of the sharp tang of spices less varied than Voltron’s markets. The _water_ smelled different. It was disorienting to be away from home in a place of homogenous architecture and practice and people; Voltron comparatively was at any given moment a facsimile of the Empire at large.

Regris was caught by the movement of Lance vanishing from his peripheral vision. He caught him cornering a poor vendor who looked flabbergasted, then angry, then chagrined, then angry again, his face morphing to answer Lance’s rapid-fire Narquodian but barely getting in a word edgewise. The back of Regris’ neck pricked. They were drawing a crowd.

“Little prince,” he murmured, and the vendor jerked sharply at the unmistakable sound of formal Altean, “we should move on. What’s your qualm with this man?”

“Look at what he’s selling!”

Regris looked. It was a paltry spread, but the things were old and interesting. They were _ancient._ There were tools from the world that preceded theirs, things that they could only guess what their workings were, but implied a greater civilization that spanned the entire world.

Lance returned to the vendor, big nosed and irate and pursed lipped. In frustrated Narquodian: “You ought to be ashamed of yourself selling the relics of our past like they’re some novelty toys! These should be under the protection of an academic who can preserve them, or a museum for consumption by the _population_ not personal cheap thrills!”

The vendor’s bitter alpha stink flared, “You’re a Voltron noble aren’t you? Only a man who can walk and talk like he’s been gifted the earth since he was a child can speak that arrogantly. Haven’t your people profited from our lands?! What gives you the right to punish me for doing the same?!”

“Woah,” said a new voice. A big hand landed on Lance’s unmarked shoulder. Regris bristled, but calmed just as quickly when he recognized her.

Lance turned, frustration in his face and fists vibrating from overstimulation, but screamed and leapt into her arms. Zethrid held him aloft as though he weighed air. She was as mighty and pretty as always, but when she turned her eye on the vendor there was a wicked glint there. “Ho, little Lanceria! I wasn’t expecting you and yours for another week!”

“Do I have stories for you!” He squeezed her neck.

“Do you? Might as well start with this one. Why are you chiding people in their own market, Lancey?”

Lance’s anger abruptly returned. He stimmed with his left hand and threw his right in a sweep so broad and wild Regris had to duck out of the way. “The man’s a con, selling off wares that belong to the _people_ and the scholarship, not some private collection where the _knowledge of the ancients_ will be locked away—”

Zethrid lifted a hand and Lance’s tongue tripped to a halt. “I get the idea. I know Ezor knows Luxia, and she’ll find the right people for things like this. But you can’t wrong the man, Lancey. Narquod’s not like Voltron. Archaeology doesn’t hold water here in the same way.”

Lance bowed his head and muttered.

Zethrid smiled, destroyed the carefully planned coils of his hair, and asked the vendor how much.

It was while they were trudging up the shallow hill to Baku Garden Manor that Lance murmured, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Zethrid hefted the box of curiosities under one arm, oozing nonchalance and sensuality. “Shut up, pretty. Like you wouldn’t have bought them all yourself eventually.”

“I just felt the need to shout at him a little first.”

Zethrid laughed at him and instead of feeling shy he stuck his nose in the air. She said, “We don’t believe in the old trinkets like you scholars do. Look at it like this: the spirits of the land grow the plants that we eat, and the spirits of the land house the trinkets that we find.”

“The provenance of the site where he unearthed those lovelies is likely destroyed.”

Zethrid grinned. “He isn’t hearing me is he.”

“Best to let him ramble,” Regris replied with a shake of the head. His hat flopped in his eyes.

Zethrid let out another of her boisterous laughs and Lance blushed under his stimming.

“How’d you know how to find us, Z?”

“Heard a rumor that some Voltron prince was buying up half the market. I take it the family’s here too?”

“Just half. We’re expecting the other half by the end of the week.”

“The move permanent?”

“I dunno,” he turned away from her and didn’t say anything else.

She said, “Well whatever the case we ought to throw you a welcoming party. Our place. Soon as the others come home you swing by, we’ll feed you.”

He checked her with his hip. “You spoil us.”

“Least we can do, eh? You made a fine woman out of this pirate.” She checked him with her hip and Lance flew. She laughed.

She laughed again while Lance was dreaming about Narquod’s interior and the idea of finding a whole underground city when she jostled him.

“Someone was waiting up for you.”

Lance looked. “ _Red?!”_

The cat trot over to Lance and coiled her body between his ankles. He stooped to scratch under her chin and behind her ears. When he began to pick her up, she allowed it. “What are you doing here? I thought you had enough people feeding you back home that you were too good to be kept by one fellow.”

She lowed at him.

“In that case I’m getting you a tag and a nice visit to the vet—do you have vets in Narquod?”

Zethrid sneered at him. “Don’t insult me, little Lancey.”

“I mean y’all don’t have a ministry of heritage and culture to defend relics from being unearthed by amateur archeologists, I think I have the right to ask!”

She huffed.

Lance turned to gesture through the open doorway where she could set down the crate, but a new figure had appeared there. Shiro looked up in surprise, then swung the doors open. His eyes lingered on Lance for a heartbeat and Lance jerked away, flushing in shame.

“It’s been a long time,” he heard Shiro say to Zethrid. He _oofed_ a little when Zethrid caught the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together.

“Nice to see you, Takashi Shirogane. I heard that you were under King Zarkon’s thumb and I’m happy to see that that is no longer the case.”

“Thank you.” His eyes shifted to Lance again.

She grinned and released him. _“Spooky!_ Show me where to put these!”

Regris complained, “My name is—”

“I know what your name is, Spook.”

Regris grumbled and lead the way.

Lance was alone with Shiro. His fingers curled and uncurled in Red’s short hair. He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Shiro.”

“Hi, Lanceria.”

“Oof. Full names. You’re still mad at me, huh?” He cleared his throat. “You have every right to be.” He brightened. “I got you something! Well, some _things_ to be precise. I wasn’t sure if you’d like savory or sweet buns so I got you both. They’re a kind of pastry: one is made with flash fried chicken pieces marinated in a pool of lemon, vinegar and garlic and then sauteed in onion and the other is—”

Shiro cut him off with a soft, “One to five?”

Lance cleared his throat. He swallowed. “One.”

Shiro stepped into his space and dropped a polite kiss on his hairline.

Lance felt unworthy and wished he’d stolen the scarf from Regris before he wandered off. “I um, I got you something. It’s a pretty pattern—Keith has one like it too—and it’s soft, I think you’d like the texture of it—”

“I’m sure it’s lovely. How was your day?”

“Uh, it was good. It was fine—”

“Did you eat?”

Lance gradually shook his head. Bored, Red pooled from Lance’s arms to Shiro’s shoulders. He slouched a little to accommodate her but otherwise was fixated on Lance and the way he was buzzing in his skin. He touched Lance’s hot cheek and he flinched.

“Sorry. Am I cold?”

He was. “No,” Lance held his hand in place. “You’re fine.”

“Good. I’m glad. You look good.”

Lance felt his lashes fluttering.

“Are you—why are you crying?”

“I don’t deserve you,” Lance dusted the wet from his eyes. “I’m so sorry for what I said on the ship, I didn’t mean it, I was just so scared and I like you too much…”

Red leaped before she could lose her balance as Shiro ducked to hold Lance. He kissed his hair. Lance wrapped his arms around Shiro’s waist tightly, so tight Shiro’s voice hitched a little, and Shiro gratuitously returned the pressure. Lance vibrated.

“I want to talk to you. You and Keith. Come, he’s waiting on us.” He helped wiped the tears away.

“You’re mad at me.”

“Not… _mad_ , not anymore, but we do have to talk.”

Dread pooled in Lance’s belly like a solid block of ice, but Shiro’s hand was nice against his shoulder blade as he led him around the complex on a path of freshly shorn grass.

“I forgot to mention,” Shiro’s voice trickled down the side of Lance’s face as he confided in him, “you look nice today.” And his middle fingers glimmered down the small of Lance’s back.

Lance swallowed, a little heat and guilt matching the dread. He murmured shy things. Shiro hummed in distracted response, touching, rubbing, scenting.

Keith was waiting for them under the one tree that wasn’t bearing fruit yet. Its thick foliage cast heavy shadows, and it was one the very edge of the property such that the calls of the Marmora de Leone family behind them felt faraway.

Keith was sitting on a padded blanket too wide and too comfortable, decorated with cushions and food that reminded him everything of their time in Voltron making walls in potatoes.

“A nest,” Lance laughed a little. He fell onto Keith and Keith held him in familiar places. Keith grunted under his weight. “Where in the world did you find cushions?”

“One of the rooms was a storeroom. It had furniture too. I was helping clean some of them before I spirited them away.” Shiro grinned. “Don’t tell Krolia.”

Lance laughed.

Keith uncapped some wine and Shiro sourced little ceramic cups. Lance squirreled off Keith’s lap. Red found them again, content to lay on her side an arm’s stretch away, amber eyes set on a grasshopper.

“I see the food I bought found you guys well.”

“And the paint and brushes too,” Keith nodded. “Baa said he’s looking forward to replacing some of the tiles, so we still have more shopping to do.”

“She’s a fixer upper,” and Lance turned his head to find the silhouette of their new home, “but she has an interesting history. She was one of the first buildings to use traditional Altean features but incorporated distinctly Narquodian motifs, such as the patterns of the tiles and the shapes of the windows—”

Shiro perked up, listening avidly. Keith leaned his chin on the bone of Lance’s shoulder to feel the vibrations of his voice thrum through his jaw. Shiro topped up their cups three times before Lance was finished. “And after the viceroy moved with Narquod’s capital this place just fell into disrepair?”

“Mhm. It’s owned by the state—was owned, anyway—but no-one would move in. It was too far from the action, or too close to the interior where jungle cats or—”

“Jungle cats?”

“The worst we have to be wary of is bird eating spiders, relax.”

Shiro blinked. “And how big are _they?”_

Lance gestured, Shiro grimaced, Keith laughed.

The tide of their mood shifted when Shiro set down his cup. Lance steeled and Keith sat up.

“I’m not sure how to begin.” He looked up. “Lance?”

Lance tucked his chin over his knees and laced his fingers on his bare ankles.

“You implied that I’m here because I wanted to leave Voltron.”

Lance winced.

“I’m here because I want to be.”

Lance nodded. “How did…what I said…how did it hurt you?”

Shiro’s eyebrows arced up, “Apart from the fact that you implied I’ve been using you like people have been using me for years?”

Lance blushed in humiliation. “It’s your right, isn’t it? People like me have hurt you. It’s your right to take things back.”

“And then where would the cycle end? If I take and someone takes from me and on and on—”

“It’s not a cycle, it’s _reparations._ It’s righting a mighty wrong.”

“Hm.” Shiro bobbed his head. “You wouldn’t say that you’ve paid for the debt of Voltron in kind?”

“Of course not.” He gestured with spread arms, “I’m able to afford smuggling my entire family out of a country. How many other people can do that?”

Shiro drank, bobbed his head. “Maybe you decided to help me out of guilt for what Voltron has inflicted on others across the Empire—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Let me finish.”

Lance sat back chagrined, and Keith sat beside him vigilant.

Shiro went on “—maybe you decided to help me out of guilt for what omega in your position have done to alpha in mine for generations. But I haven’t come here with you to Narquod because I feel that a debt has been paid, or because I feel that escaping Voltron is what you owe me, or whatever else. I’m here by your side because I like you. And I like your family.” He busied his hands pouring them more alcohol. “I’m not the same person that first came on Voltron’s shores. If I were, I’m sure I would be with Adam and his family or the Holts. But I can’t see myself happy with them indefinitely like I can see myself happy with you. I’m not,” he chuckled a little, “I’m not here because I feel indebted or to hitch a ride away from the fallout of a coup. I’m here out of selfishness.”

Lance’s eyes fluttered.

Keith waited a beat before he whispered, “You could just say you’re in love with us.”

Shiro burst out laughing, shoulders bobbing ears pink. At last he seemed less stable and confessed, “I’m not sure about that much yet but…” and he met their eyes, “I’m sure that’s inevitable by this point.”

“One to five?” Keith and Lance asked at once.

Shiro chortled, spread his arm, and they were beneath him instantly, soaking up his smell and heat, holding him in a grip so tight it was hard to breathe and he could feel three heartbeats in his skin, two of which were perfectly synced.

Unbidden came the thought of marking them one day: would the rhythms of his body synchronize with theirs the same way? The idea didn’t strike him with the same sort of fear that being bound to another would have instilled in him half a year ago.

Lance’s face stayed tucked against Shiro’s throat, but Keith had started lapping at his jaw. It felt heavenly, and his body responded instantaneously, but Shiro gently eased them away. “We still have a bit more to talk about,” he apologized to their vaguely wounded expressions. “Actually, I have a borderline self-deprecating question.”

Like lightening their expressions shifted into something thunderous. Shiro almost laughed at how choreographed they were. Was that a matter of bond or was that a matter of living with one another for years?

Shiro asked, “Why me?”

Keith asked, “Why you to impregnate us or why you to aggressively adopt into Lance’s harem?”

Lance glared at Keith and said nothing.

“Both, I suppose.”

“I do not have a harem!”

Keith said, “Haven’t we said so already? Shiro you’re incredibly strong. How many years have you spent being a doormat and you decided firmly to stay sane under the stress? I’ve seen Zarkon’s Champions before. Treat them like a prize bull long enough and they’ll act like it. But you insisted on being anything but.”

“You were kept in a cell instead of apartments befitting the king’s most lucrative gladiator. _Zarkon_ kept you in that cage. He’d been fighting to subjugate you forever.”

Lance swallowed around the knot in his throat. Zarkon had looked at Lance and saw himself in him, which was why he allowed him Narquod and other little innocuous favours. At the same time Zarkon believed that an alpha’s place was to support the omega, that an alpha was physically incapable of being human and was ready to slip into caveman logic at the point most convenient to them. It left an uncomfortable bitterness on Lance’s tongue that a man so wrong and cruel had looked on Lance with favour.

But it wasn’t about him right now. He looked Shiro in the eye: “You reminded me of Keith.”

Both Keith and Shiro jumped at that.

“Keith and the Marmora were disallowed so many things. And when they were in an environment with basic amenities, a safe place to sleep and cook and learn, they _blossomed._ You think it was because of me that they became a popular mercenary guild?”

Shiro— _and_ Keith!—nodded, stupefied.

“That was all them. Yes, it helped that I paraded you lot around in public, but all the rest was on you guys. And like how Keith’s literacy _bloomed_ the minute he got the chance to learn formally—even though he’s fallen out of practice recently—”

Keith’s upper lip curled but he looked away for a moment.

“—I knew you’d bloom in the same way. I couldn’t just…I don’t know how to describe it but I couldn’t just leave you alone. I _couldn’t_.”

Shiro’s thumb flickered on Keith’s ankle. “Even…even though I’m old and depressed?”

Lance blinked at him confused and blank-faced. “Depression doesn’t define you and old people know how to fuck properly. Next question?”

Keith fell onto his back laughing. Shiro was still in shock.

Lance folded his arms and frowned, “And you’ve _proven that_ even, I don’t understand why you’d say that as a bad thing!”

Shiro ducked his head.

Keith wheezed, he wheezed, “Lance,” but he chortled. “Lance, stop it, you’re making him blush!”

Lance finally smiled and tipped forward and nuzzled his alpha’s cheek. He smelled radiant, flustered and aroused, and generally giddy. Lance found it infectious. “Any more silly questions?”

“Mm. Just one.”

“Oh boy.”

Keith chuckled at Shiro’s shy look and Lance’s pulse of irritation but his belly was sore and he groaned.

“Can I…may I have you for my rut?”

Keith sat up on his elbows. His eyes stayed trained on Shiro’s lips but he flared his nostrils and inhaled cautiously, savouring the taste of the air and processing Shiro’s scent on it. Now that he knew what to look for he sat up proper, crawled into Shiro’s space, and inhaled again.

Lance had stilled. “You’re pre-rut?”

Shiro nodded.

Keith chirped, “Explains why he’s been horny all week.”

Shiro spluttered, but his eyes pinched in remembrance and he looked thoroughly embarrassed.

Lance asked what Shiro wanted of them.

“If…I’d like you to be there,” Shiro swallowed. “It doesn’t need to be sexually.”

“Do you _want_ it to be?” Keith asked firmly.

Shiro slowly nodded.

Keith softened. “Thank you, Shiro. That means a lot.” He leaned forward and kissed him. It was long but chaste, and Lance inched forward waiting for his turn. No sooner had Shiro turned to Lance to welcome him, Keith’s lips dropped to Shiro’s gland, turgid and slightly oiling, and Shiro shivered involuntarily.

“What do you absolutely not want us to do?” Keith whispered. “What should we expect?”

Lance was vibrating in his skin again but this time his back was straight with excitement. Keith was more sober, but his abundant interest was undisguised.

Shiro slowly cycled through what he remembered, but it had been a long time. He remembered being energetic, eating a lot, sleeping very little. He remembered being aware, and understanding when other’s spoke to him, and going to the bathroom of his own volition, but he was impatient and couldn’t wait through cooking a proper meal or bathing before the energy in his skin demanded more.

“I’d _love_ to bathe you,” Lance purred.

Shiro ignored the potent _zing_ that fired down to his cock.

Keith was wrapping his hands around Shiro’s knee, stroking and pawing with no real goal in mind, but each flex of his fingers signaled to Shiro sexual intent, and he felt hyperaware of his partner’s every shuffle.

Once again it came up that Shiro wanted to tackle headfirst his resistance to oral sex. He didn’t need to explain what caused it, Keith and Lance simply sobered and understood. Their hands creeped up and down his person like the breathing tide, pending his permission. The sun set and he gave it: “Just, um, be slow? And if I say stop, stop completely. Pull off.”

“Of course, alpha.”

“Yes, alpha.”

Shiro’s heart hammered in his chest. He lay back, undid the laces of his trousers, and lifted his hips and inched his pants off. While he felt their heavy gazes on him neither of them moved from their positions on either side of them. When he realized they were waiting for his _instructions_ he felt abruptly in command of a lot of power…and out of command of his tongue. “Um. Uh.”

Keith smiled warmly, and rubbed Shiro’s thigh in consolation. “How about we start off with some slow experimentation and then you can guide us from there?”

Shiro felt juvenile with his cock limp and lackluster on his belly, nerves chapping his resolve, even though he felt more at peace here beside the bubble of a canal and jungle air perfumed with ripe fruit and his partners’ arousal. He swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

They leaned forward in turn to drop soft kisses on his mouth before departing to other partitions of his skin.

The most flagrant of his anatomy they left alone other than Keith’s platonic hold on his scrotum. Lance suckled and sipped the skin around the scent glands on Shiro’s hip where it curved into his groin, and Keith rubbed his nose and tongue through his chest hair, reaching back and forth to clasp each nipple between his teeth.

Shiro grew more self-conscious but less wary as they went on. He thought of the weight he put on after weeks of rich people food, but the hands and lips and giggles that lapped over the bounce in his belly and ass and thighs were appreciative. Outside of the buzz of candleflies and Red’s rustling through the foliage, Shiro heard their sighs of pleasure or smacks as they worshipped him, and eventually he let his own voice join the symphony.

Keith seemed to be leading them. He shifted Shiro’s knees apart in question and when Shiro responded he settled between his thighs, lifted a calf to his shoulder, and sucked on the back of Shiro’s knee. Lance was on the other leg, painting bites up and down his hamstring. Shiro shuddered. His hand clenched.

Keith noticed. “You can grab Lance’s hair if you want.”

Lance’s head popped up. His eyes were bright in abundant consent.

Shiro warily reached forward.

“Grab close to the roots, okay? Too much tension on the ends can hurt.”

Lance closed his eyes as Shiro’s fingers filtered into his hair. “I wouldn’t mind you hurting me.”

Shiro was suddenly queasy. “I’d rather not.” He moved Lance’s head, and Lance went willingly, side to side, up and down.

Keith said at the same moment Shiro thought it: “You can control him on your cock like that.”

Lance’s expression took on an absent—and hungry—look. Shiro’s belly clenched.

Keith’s hold transitioned from possessive to soothing. “Don’t force yourself. If you don’t want to you don’t have to. We’re proud of you.”

Lance nodded, though his eyes were downcast and his lips a little too wet. Despite his hunger, despite his need, he remained obediently still. Keith kissed the side of his knee.

“Lance. Uhm. S-s-su…”

Lance saved him, “May I suck you off, alpha?”

Shiro nodded hastily.

Lance glanced at Keith, Keith watched them both with dark eyes. Lance grasped the base of Shiro’s cock, heel of his hand resting on the unstimulated flesh of his deflated knot, wrist knocking Keith’s who still had a companionable hold on Shiro’s balls, and Lance slurped up the head.

It _popped_ into his mouth, Lance’s tongue vibrated with the suction, and Shiro bucked and despite himself yanked on Lance’s hair. He released him immediately. “I’m sorry, I—”

Lance irritably smacked Shiro’s hand in his head again. Keith chuckled. “He’s fine alpha,” and Keith’s voice took on a wistful quality. “You can be rougher if you want. Do want you want.”

Shiro bit his lip. Lance’s tongue swirled flat against his frenulum idly. Shiro could feel his thighs shaking and his heart hurting. “Off, please.”

Lance obeyed immediately, and Keith’s hands left him too.

 _Whew_ a woosh of relief flooded Shiro.

Lance asked, “Was it too much?”

“It was fine.” He blew out a sigh. “Just…just confirming something.”

Lance looked like he wanted to ask. Keith shook his head at him.

Shiro asked, “Please do that again?”

Lance did it again in the _exact same way_ and Shiro’s hips twitched restlessly. Keith’s hand returned to his scrotum too, holding cordially.

“Twist your tongue around the corona, please…”

“So polite.”

Shiro felt Lance smile as he abided his request. His was slow and the pressure and suction unparalleled. Shiro groaned.

“Do you like that, alpha?”

Shiro nodded hastily.

“You can force him down if you want. Lance can handle it.”

Lance offered no input. He was too busy being blissed out and cross-eyed. Shiro could smell his slick and his lizard brain reveled in the idea of rendering his omega brainless with just his cock. It fed his libido and ego like little else.

Shiro cupped Lance’s hair again and Lance hummed. “ _Mm_ please do that again.” Lance hummed a low and silly tune. Shiro broke into a laugh, pretty sharp teeth glowing in the twilight, and Keith, though he missed the joke, reflexively grinned too.

Bit by bit Shiro lured Lance down. Lance’s mouth and throat fell smooth on Shiro’s hardening cock. There was no resistance, in fine every muscle seemed to be working hard at swallowing him all down. Lance was _swallowing,_ and his breath came in short hot bursts through his nose on Shiro’s belly. When Shiro looked down at him there was no sign of discomfort or malice, and another cool balm washed through his throat and chest.

His body was thrumming. Being in so much control over another body was a novelty to him and his body liked having an omega and beta at his beck and call.

“Keith, roll your fingers.”

“Like this?”

And Shiro gasped. He could feel sweat on his skin. He was naked, and they were clothed, and he felt so strong. “Yeah.” Automatically he flexed his hand to stimulate his cock more. Lance replied immediately. His lips squelched where he was drooling. Shiro never had someone drool on his cock before. “ _Yeah,_ like that.”

Now Keith’s musk added to Lance’s. Their smells twined in the air. Lance’s fingers flexed in the sheet of their nest, and Keith’s breathing was no longer unaffected. Lance, utterly relaxed, sucked harder or threw himself further on his alpha as he was directed, heedless of the way his lips crashed against his knot.

Shiro whined. Something hot and unfamiliar was filling his belly. When he sought grounding Keith let his leg fall and he planted his soles against the earth and bucked into Lance’s uncomplaining mouth with regularity. Keith’s hands were steady and slow and even and then his witty fingers trapped under Lance’s throat pressed against his perineum. Shiro’s orgasm startled him: he lost his footing and shouted, and Lance swallowed and swallowed, whining that he couldn’t fit his knot in his mouth…

Shiro accepted water when it was handed to him.

“I think you threw Lance into heat.”

“Huh?” He looked down.

Lance was lapping at Shiro’s groin and hair for no apparent reason and to no apparent end. He _reeked_ of arousal and Shiro’s spend and his eyes were still detached. He perked up when he saw their eyes on him, but was still devoted to memorizing the taste of Shiro’s skin.

Shiro grew alarmed. “Is that normal?”

“Sometimes,” Keith murmured and kissed him. “Do you want me to ask him to stop?”

“I’m right here,” Lance complained from the crease of Shiro’s thigh. “You could just _ask_ me.”

Keith said, “Lance, stop.”

“No.”

“Bitch!”

“It’s fine,” Shiro felt like he was being groomed or cleaned in some way. The animalistic parallel disgusted him but Lance’s mouth was lovely. It was an easy choice.

Keith asked carefully, “How were we?”

Shiro offered a sated lovesick smile.

Keith was relieved. “Happy to hear it.”

“Thank you,” he lured Keith down for another kiss, then asked Lance up. Lance straddled him and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you,”_ Lance purred, “Ancients help me I’ll never be able to return to normal cock again.”

Keith startled. “Hey!”

Shiro rest back with a hum. The Empire was breaking, his home was in ruins, their way of life would be changed forever, and he fit in the small small space between Lance’s big heart and Keith’s ceaseless passion.


	12. The Next Stages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and support. I have blossomed as a writer because of it. Every reader, every lurker, every commenter, every hit has made me a better storyteller. Thank you for enjoying it as much as I have. Kudos to you all.

Lance got excited when he threw up one week later, but then Antok’s father wandered past and sniffed his neck and shook his head. If Shiro hadn’t been staring at his omega he might not have noticed the flash of devastation in the wrinkle of his brow and nose.

Shiro stepped close and gauged Lance’s body language for rejection. When it didn’t come, he kissed the black scabbed Bondmark and dropped his nose in his hair. Lance protested his hair needed to wash and nudged Shiro away. Shiro protested right back, nuzzling closer closer with louder louder vocalizations until Lance’s heartbroken expression dissolved.

An hour later Acxa and Keith and Regris returned with meat and vegetables and rice to last an army a week. The gutters to catch rainwater had been cleaned and the vats to collect them bleached. The leaves and dust were swept from the courtyards and rooms and _true_ furniture was replacing what was previously made up of shadows and cobwebs. At night their little manor came alive with lanterns and music, because Antok’s father played the flute and Shiro was leading the children in a kind of stomping dance. The puppy, christened Kosmo for the stars in his soil black pelt, pursued unhappy Red into the rafters.

“Here, try this,” and Lance popped something into Keith’s mouth before he’d totally turned at his gesture.

Shiro could see the way they predicted one another’s movements faster by the day. There was an understanding between them, comfortable and ancient, where Keith tilted his hips so and Lance knew his back was hurting him and moved to fix it before most noticed anything amiss. Every interaction was fueled by an ongoing subtextual conversation that, Shiro mused, had always been there, but that their bond had amplified.

He regarded them with longing, even when one was draped over his arm and the other in his lap. He opened his mouth and Lance grinned and slipped paella onto his tongue but the motion wasn’t as smooth.

Keith’s jaw went _crunch crunch_ on Shiro’s thigh as he worked the broad chunks of vegetable. Shiro pet his hair. His eyes slipped closed. His mother slapped his calf.

_“Ow!”_

“Sit up.”

Krolia gave him a stern look. The language between mother and child, unlike that between bonded lovers, was universal, because even Shiro straightened his posture as Keith did.

While he was distracted Lance lurched forward. He braced one hand on the crease where Shiro’s hip met his thigh and rasped his tongue against the corner of his mouth. Shiro stared.

“Sauce,” Lance claimed.

Shiro shuffled. “Pass me the cushion?”

Lance’s grin slipped from affectionate to evil, but he obeyed, and Shiro delicately wove the pillow into the folds of his lap.

(Keith stared at the cushion longingly.)

The gaiety of their meal, which in every way save locale and numbers was precisely like Shiro’s first night dining among the Marmora-de Leones, ebbed after the children were packed away.

Antok’s father said: “They sure are taking their sweet time.”

Everyone sobered and no-one had to ask him what he meant.

Lance didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he reached for a bowl of sweet peppers. “Should I make discreet inquiries?”

Krolia asked if it were possible that any reliable information on the whereabouts of their family could be gleaned in the newfound warzone of Voltron’s revolution.

Lance frowned and scooped bell peppers onto the scowling Keith’s plate. “Better than sitting here and worrying, isn’t it?”

Shiro leaned forward when Lance leaned across him, and back when he retreated. He shuffled, worming the cushion more firmly between their tangled legs. Keith leaned against him and chewed bitterly.

Krolia smiled at them, and noticed a few of their elders smiling to themselves too. Their young love was refreshing. “Then I think that’s a sound idea, little prince. Thank you.”

He flashed a toothless grin at her, but returned to worrying. No doubt he thought it in part his responsibility that they’d had to move and that now they were divided.

“No one blames you,” Keith signed in the lamplight of their new room. It was smaller than their Voltron apartments and, new to the navigation as they were, a little cramped for three. But now that Shiro was reclined and Lance bedding down next to him Keith had space to move and act.

Lance looked away.

Keith caught Lance’s chin, begging him to meet his eyes. “You saved us.”

“I manipulated events to my will by virtue of the standing of my birth.”

“Your words are uppity today. What’s the occasion?”

Lance covered his face with both hands.

Shiro sat up in alarm and Keith kneeled to pull at his hands: “Bitch, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m deaf?”

Lance squished Keith’s cheeks in retaliation and Keith laughed but asked again.

“I need a distraction,” Lance repeated. “I want to do something.” He gestured a flicking motion with his hands and twisted his fingers in Keith’s hair.

With his eyes free of bangs, his eyes caught on something beyond Lance’s elbow. A lecherous grin spread across his face. “Shiro can help with that.”

Lance turned.

Shiro was pre-rut but still very in control of his faculties. Lance and Keith knew to look out for a non-verbal, tactile, hypersensitive, oversexed version of their lover in the near future, but a Shiro straddling the worlds of sobriety was just as darling.

He was hard and writhing and too polite to mention it. He produced an obscene tent and his flush spanned down his shoulders and chest like a sparkling veil. His eyes were black but wide as if he were in a constant state of arousal as well as surprise. He squirmed under their gazes. He mumbled fearfully, “What?”

Lance faced him with newfound sense of duty, “May I suck you off please?”

Shiro’s mouth worked a little. He hissed, _“The children are right next door!”_

“I’ll be quiet.”

Keith teased, “ _He_ won’t.”

Lance stood and pulled his tunic off in one fluid motion and Shiro squeaked. Lance was always easy on the eyes but the predatory glint on his teeth was hard to face. That one second of thrill was abruptly overwhelmed by nausea—it reflected in his face and scent.

Keith perked up and Lance collapsed into a neat, contained kneel outside of Shiro’s open thighs. He opened his mouth but closed it just as quickly, so Keith took up the role of intermediary and caressed Shiro’s jaw. “It’s an offer, not a demand,” he reminded him. “If you’ve changed your mind about being physical for your rut we’ll respect that.”

Shiro’s colour deepened. Bracing on his elbow grew tiring so he let himself fall back. Keith’s sweet warm hand followed him. Shiro turned his nose to catch on the gland on the inside of Keith’s wrist and felt his teeth lengthen. “I don’t mind,” he admitted at his leisure.

Keith’s voice grew softer such that every other word was a whisper. “What do you want from us?”

Shiro was again startled by the overbearing responsibility of being in control. It felt as euphoric as it did frightening. He didn’t want to disappoint.

Keith’s nails scraped his scalp. A shiver in his spine translated into a jerk of his cock. His desire perfumed the air. “Whatever you want,” Keith purred. “Whatever _you_ want.”

He purred, “I feel like some sort of hedonistic pimp with two pretty little things at my beck and call.”

Keith saw Lance’s posture straighten and preen in his peripheral vision. Keith arched a brow and Shiro’s bout of creativity mellowed into trepidation. But Keith only said, “What should we call you? Sir? My lord?”

Keith took it in stride! Shiro’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip and Keith gently pried it away. Shiro warbled his name. He felt pleased and embarrassed and paper thin.

“What would his lordship have us do?”

Lance’s hand, hot from being pressed between his thighs, held Shiro’s knee companionably. A sheet still divided them, but Shiro was so sure he could feel dampness on Lance’s fingers.

“Keith, uhm.”

Keith offered a smile devoid of judgement.

“I don’t…know what your mouth feels like.”

He grinned savagely. “As his lordship says.” And he peeled the sheet away.

Shiro felt two pairs of eyes fetch upon his cock. He didn’t look, a little out of love with old scars and new fat and dry skin and alpha reek. He saw their faces brighten, against the odds, felt Lance’s hold tighten and Keith swallow even as he trailed a hand firmly on the inside of his sensitive thigh.

Shiro whimpered, and those eyes fastened on _him._ Not his body, not his cock: on _him_ and all his vulnerabilities.

“One to five?”

He exhaled, “One.” He inhaled, “I just…sensitive.”

“What should I do, my lord?”

Shiro groaned. “No light touches. Don’t tease me.” Belatedly, “Please.”

Keith nodded and settled between Shiro’s legs, which spread generously for him. Keith grasped the back of his knees—Shiro jerked—“You’re very flexible,” Keith praised, and sucked hard and fast and brutal on the scent gland on Shiro’s left inside thigh.

Shiro clapped his hand over his mouth but a drop of his shout leaked out. Keith retreated with a triumphant grin, and Shiro was coming.

Lance disappeared as Shiro caught his breath. He heard water. The damp rag that wiped at his belly was lukewarm.

Lance kissed Shiro’s right nipple when he was finished and then sat aside.

Shiro murmured something. Keith glanced at Lance for a translation.

“He said that he didn’t expect that to happen,” Lance said, hands slow. “He didn’t mean to.”

“Do you want to stop for now?”

Shiro shook his head.

Keith sat on his heels. Shiro was magnificent: he was the manifestation of power inert, a man full of ability and action _choosing_ to bare his scars and cock to two ravenous throats. There was so much unspoken trust in the simple gesture of laying on his back nude, and Keith didn’t know how better to show how grateful he was than to rub feeling into his shaking, mountainous thighs and murmur shy truths.

Beautiful as his prone body was, a need curled in Keith’s lower belly. His cock was stirring, the tip poking through the thick curls of his mount (he caught Lance eyeing it). It was inevitable what with Shiro presenting as he was.

Keith urged Shiro to wrap his legs around him and Shiro groggily complied. “Alpha, I have a question.”

Shiro watched him.

“Are you…are you lucid?”

Shiro laughed, “Yes m’fine.”

Keith challenged, “He’s slurring.”

Lance agreed, “You’re slurring.”

Shiro’s brow furrowed and he roughly wiped at his mouth. “I’m _fine,”_ he enunciated with too much effort. “What’s your question?”

“When you and your husband had sex, did you ever bottom?”

Lance’s smell twisted into something excited and Keith shot him a short devious smile.

Shiro looked less lucid all of a sudden. “Yes.”

Keith grasped Shiro’s left hip with intent. He saw Shiro gasp. “Did you like it?”

Shiro sucked on his bottom lip for a moment. “…yes.”

“Would you allow your humble servant to fuck you tonight, my lord?”

Lance’s smell flared again. Keith didn’t know his husband was such an eager voyeur. He wanted to watch Lance work himself silly without a single hand on him, but he didn’t lift the weight of his gaze from Shiro’s contemplation.

Shiro swallowed, “I need to uh…”

Keith offered: “Clean?”

Shiro nodded.

“Do you want help?”

“ _No!”_

“No judgement,” Keith retreated gently.

“Part of nature,” Lance agreed. “I have stuff you can use. Hang on.” And he stood, and slick ran down the inside of his thigh and caught in the firelight like honey, and he was too distracted by his mission to notice two keen attentions on him.

They grew interested in one another instead: Keith prowled over Shiro and asked for a kiss and Shiro gave it thrice over. “Thank you.”

Keith suckled on his throat.

Lance returned. “Here,” and he watched with amusement as they untangled reluctantly.

Shiro left the room after hastily throwing on a tunic. Lance pushed Keith’s head.

“Ow.”

“You’re on a roll tonight with the whole passive-aggressive master-servant thing! How’d you come up with it?”

Keith shrugged. “Just felt right.”

“Look at you playing it off acting like you aren’t hot for this.” He pushed him again and Keith laughed. “Dammit, if I’d known we could have played with _so_ many roles. Like a slave-owner—oop,” Lance clapped his hands to his chest and watched the door Shiro went through. “Shit. Insensitive much, Lance? Ugh!”

“Not like he heard you but I agree: maybe not that one.”

“What if Shiro’s into that though? Like…gaining repossession of his autonomy by re-enacting his trauma sorta thing?”

He scrunched his nose. “That sounds like a fire we shouldn’t play with.”

“Even if he volunteers it?”

“If it comes up we’ll talk about it. But not for now.”

Lance nodded. He looked a little lectured, so Keith kissed him to sweeten.

“Do you like watching?”

“ _Very_ much.” And his sharp viper teeth concurred. “Do you like me watching?”

“Mm.”

“You don’t?”

“I…I’m indifferent to you watching. It comes with the territory doesn’t it? Sometimes one of us will be warming the bench.”

“Waiting our turn?”

“Or to recuperate. You can be a handful.”

“ _Rude.”_

Keith moved to kiss him to sweeten and Lance danced away. They were still playing when Shiro returned, a little less pink and smelling a little less horny, his wariness making his movements jerky.

“That was fast,” Lance said amiably.

“Uh, I didn’t uhm. I didn’t.”

Keith stood, “Can we? We’ll be gentle.”

Shiro nodded, but, “it’s embarrassing.”

“Oh please. Have you met Lance? You’ll see far worse from him in the near future.”

Lance made to look indignant, but Shiro laughed when he shrugged and nodded and couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

-

Then Shiro was lying on his back with two fingers plying his prostate. He sunk his teeth in the nearest cushion and grunted.

Lance kneeled obediently at the side of the bed. Neither Keith nor Shiro gave him any instructions, and he appeared more than content to watch Shiro’s body open to Keith’s artful fingers.

Keith leaned up to watch Shiro’s face. “Does something hurt?”

Lance motioned “He’s not making hurt sounds” the same time Shiro stuck one finger in the air.

“I’m going to go a little deeper now, alright?” He slid forward at Shiro’s consent.

His hips bucked up and his tall cock bobbed into the sky. Lance felt himself salivating at the halting groan Shiro couldn’t thoroughly bite back. His body flexed under the weight of sweat and stress of pleasure. Keith pumped his wrist and Shiro grunted in time.

“It’s like you’re playing him like an instrument.”

Shiro let out a breeze of laughter and Keith smiled, but didn’t ask Lance to repeat. He busied himself framing his teeth around Shiro’s cock.

Shiro suddenly went very very still and his eyes blew wide.

Keith didn’t detract his teeth to go down on Shiro. It often wasn’t necessary once one got the dance between tongue and lips and suction right, and Keith’s threat to Shiro’s frenulum with the bottom row of his pointy teeth was intentional. It felt lethal, _sharp,_ and Shiro’s hips and belly shivered in response to the isolated field of sparks generated there.

It didn’t occur to Shiro to be afraid or wary. The bed of Keith’s tongue replaced his teeth at intervals, keeping Shiro on his toes (often literally). He was worked into a delicate frenzy via methodical bullying. Lance watched in awe as Shiro fell apart:

“Please, please, make him stop, he’s edging me and I really need him to—to—!”

Lance translated with his hands. Keith pulled off to laugh. “You’re so sloppy. What did he say?”

Shiro egged him on with a whine Keith could _feel_ through the hand bracing on his tummy and the legs crossed at his lower back.

“Yes, my lord,” Keith said with a fictious bow. “I have a request, one to five?”

Shiro whined inconsolably. Keith’s fingers were still stirring stirring stirring…

“Would you mind having Lance sit on your face? He’s been very patient.”

Lance jumped. “You don’t have to,” he said while wiping away drool. “I’m content watching.”

“You don’t smell like it.”

“ _Shut up_ Keith.”

“One,” Shiro tried to smile, but it came out like another stifled whine. “C’mere.”

Lance jumped up. “Is it okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Shiro was angling up to—

No sooner had Lance properly straddled Shiro’s shoulders did Shiro lunge up and latch and suck. Lance knotted his hand in Shiro’s hair and stimmed with the other, teeth in his lips and eyes locked tight.

“Very good alpha,” Keith whispered with a kiss to Shiro’s hip. He set himself to line up and pressed his cock to Shiro’s rim twice to alert him. Shiro didn’t reply moaning beneath Lance as he was, and Keith rolled his hips forward.

Shiro jerked. Keith paused, but Shiro rolled his butt in a subtle nod for more and Keith waded his way in. Shiro _sucked_ him in, pulled and _pulled_ in a way totally new. Keith shivered. Sweat broke out on his back.

In part it was likely because this was an alpha submitting to him and enjoying it. In part it was likely because it was _Shiro’s_ submission. The physicality of the searing, constricting muscle on his prick served to augment the context of Shiro’s trust, which ran so deep that he’d let himself be taken despite his unpleasant sexual history, despite the primal instinct to be in control, and in spite of his dawning rut.

Shiro was inarticulate. His cock flailed as he planted the soles of his feet on the bedspread and beckoned for more. He huffed between Lance’s spread thighs and Lance bounced on the tip of his tongue cross-eyed and delirious.

(Keith spared a moment to wonder if Shiro truly could trigger Lance’s heat.)

Despite appearances, they were being quiet, but that was bound to change in a heartbeat. Shiro’s grunts were picking up, Lance was barely swallowing his whines, and Keith was losing his grip on keeping them in line what with his skin tingling and flaring on every forward thrust and the clap of skin growing sharper.

“Quiet,” he whispered, and Lance covered his mouth and Shiro held his breath.

It surprised none of them that the crescendo that woke the plaza was Keith’s amorous shout.

-

Homeless and lonely Keith sulked under Shiro’s arm.

Lance teased, “I think it’s a fine place to stay for the week. And look, what a view!”

“Yes. The neighbor’s laundry is incandescent.”

“We could have been viewing our own laundry if someone wasn’t a loud exhibitionist.”

_“I said I was sorry.”_

“You ought to be sorry for scarring your infant sister.”

“Fuck off. I saw worse when she was being made.”

“Ew.” Lance was chuckling.

Keith sulked.

Shiro’s shoulders were growing less tense now that they were alone. Their walk in public through congested roadway and by boat had put him on edge. Now that he was in an isolated space that he could control, he did so.

He went to the window, nudged Lance aside, and closed it.

“Hey!”

Shiro dropped a wild kiss on his lips to placate him.

“Well when you put it that way…”

Keith snorted.

“I love a man who can foil me in a debate. Whew!”

“That’s bound to happen when his sure-proof solution to any argument is _put something in the chatty omega’s mouth._ ”

“I resent that.”

“You resent that Shiro’s capitalizing on your oral fixation when half his brain is in his cock?”

Lance opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He opened his mouth.

“You are a slut, Lanceria. It’s not hard to figure out.”

“Only for you.”

Keith turned away so Lance didn’t get the validation of seeing how flattered Keith was.

As promised, Shiro was energetic. After the trio made their rounds of apologies and made penance with chores, Shiro had wrangled the kids for the majority of the day. Acxa complained she was exhausted from watching them. When they were spent and dozing on their parents’ laps, Shiro kept himself busy picking fruit.

Half that fruit they left at the house, the rest Shiro had slung over his shoulder and now dropped with a thump that rattled the floorboards. Lance cheeped. They watched Shiro reach into the satchel and eat.

“Oh. He’s mostly self-sufficient.”

“He’s in _rut,_ Lance, he’s not a _pet.”_ Keith glared, “What were you expecting?”

Lance had the good sense to blush as he defended, “I was just—I mean—he said he doesn’t bathe and—”

“He said he gets impatient. It’s like when you’re in one of your moods and won’t get up until I put food in front of you.”

Lance reflected. “He’s selectively neurodivergent?”

“That’s…that’s not a bad way of phrasing it actually.”

Shiro started peeling his fourth banana.

“…I should order some dinner then?”

“Three servings.”

“Duh.”

“I meant three servings for _Shiro.”_

“Oh.”

Shiro looked up urgently when Lance opened the door and did not relax until he’d finished speaking with whoever was on the other side.

It didn’t smell like ocean here which kept throwing Keith off. He was used to the perennial cool of the sea breeze. Narquod, for all it was a city of water, smelled more like freshly fallen leaves and green wood. It was alien. He hated it.

Lance shrieked when Shiro yanked him onto him. Keith turned in time to watch Shiro wrap himself around Lance as a kitten does her favourite toy, legs and all, and saw Lance’s shoulders shake as he laughed and put up a weak fight.

Lance smelled of Voltron. His briny copper scent was the closest thing Keith found matched his years trotting through streets yawning above the surf and seawall. Perhaps it would be truer to say that Lance smelled like home.

Shiro either ignored or glomped his partners in turn. When Keith wandered by and had the poor sense of being within range, Shiro captured him too.

_“Shiro! Off!”_

Shiro either wouldn’t listen—or didn’t care—until Keith stopped squirming and let himself be scented or until Shiro was content and released him. There seemed to be no obvious criteria for the latter.

He _did_ understand verbal cues for all his ability to speak was suppressed. Lance was shocked even, when their food arrived, Shiro perked up and made the sign for _eat._ When Lance nodded, Shiro came for his portion.

Lance’s litany of beliefs of rut were being shattered one by one. Alpha did _not_ sport perennial boners. They did _not_ act on every sexual impulse. While Shiro was overtly interested in sex, if Keith lightly smacked his hand or Lance moved away on his advance, he stopped.

“His strongest instinct is to protect, not to wring us dry.”

Keith said that while Lance was half-drunk on the wet knot tucked firmly into his belly. Beneath him rose and fell the tide of Shiro’s sated breathing.

“But I thought ruts were all about the holdover from the time when humans had mating seasons or whatever, when they were nomadic and had very little time to sit down for a proper lovemaking and had to do it on the go?”

“Yeah, hence the protection part. If we’re travelling in the wild and we don’t know where dangers are coming from, an alpha intent on fucking needs to be alert for his benefit and the benefit of his partner who could be pregnant.”

“So how does that tie into Shiro’s understanding of consent?”

“He’s not an animal—”

“ _I know,”_ Lance hissed impatiently. “What I mean is that his inhibitions are suppressed, right? But it doesn’t take much for him to get the memo that we aren’t interested, even when he’s raring to go.”

“Yeah, his inhibitions are suppressed, that doesn’t mean he’ll turn into a rapist.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I’m tired.” Lance turned away from him.

Shiro roused just enough to make room for Keith on the bed. Keith slept. He woke to shaking: Lance on his back and Shiro crushing him, his movements leaving nothing to the imagination. When they were finished and Shiro ate enough to feed a small army and allowed Lance to braid back his hair, he followed Keith back and forth across the borrowed space until Keith laughed, took pity, and bounced on his cock.

“He’s rougher with me than he is with you,” Keith eyed his bruises and hickies in the mirror.

“Yours just show up more because you’re white.”

Keith twisted to shoot him a glare. Lance ran away.

Keith was sure he was wrong though. Shiro wasn’t going out of his way to hurt Keith of course: in fine he was incredibly generous and attentive to Keith’s cues. Keith couldn’t ask for a finer lover. At the same time it felt as though Shiro was restraining himself more where Lance was concerned. Was it because he was omega? Was the belief that omega are delicate and incapable of taking knot instructing his subconsciousness? Or was it something else?

Keith retired from his thoughts. He wasn’t an academic like Kolivan.

At the reminder of his old teacher his brow furrowed. He worried for his fathers and cousins. They were competent naturally, but that something had gone obviously off schedule tormented him.

A sloppy mouth in his ear distracted him. _“Ugh! Gross!”_

Lance giggled when Keith shoved and straddled him. “I’m sorry I’m sorry—ah no no no no no _eeeeeeeeekk!!”_

In their peripheral vision Shiro was indifferent to their roughhousing.

Keith only released him when his cheek was properly salivated. Lance rubbed it off, “Gosh, thanks, I can feel the love.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I wanted to take Shiro down to bathe. Come with us?”

Keith shook his head. “I’ll change the sheets and clean up.”

Lance winced, “Yeah, we’ve been living like pigs.”

“Pigs are rather clean, actually. Sometimes they decorate their beds with flowers.”

“Please do not make me sympathetic to sirloin pork.”

Keith chittered.

Shiro was predictably distressed when Lance attempted to move him out of their safe haven and away from one of his other halves. He refused to leave until Keith was properly scented, the door barricaded, and Lance thrown over his shoulder.

“Haha best rut ever,” Lance swung limp from Shiro’s hard bulk and laughed at the cabinet shoved in front of their apartment door. He glimpsed another tenant make a double-take.

-

With the windows to the tiny porch open and the bedsheets replaced, the mustiness and smell he’d grown acclimated to ebbed. All the containers they’d had dinner in were rinsed clean, and the basket of trash was waiting for Shiro’s return to escort him to the garbage chute. Trapped as he was, Keith busied himself with a tangerine and watching the neighbor’s laundry dance. He’d only gotten through one before the pressure of the room and the wind flow changed, alerting him that the door opened. They’d returned already? When he turned to greet them however, it was the tall lean figure of his bemused old teacher instead.

 _“Kolivan!”_ and Keith threw himself at him.

Kolivan returned the embrace but quickly pried him free. “Lovely to see you kit but _careful._ I don’t want you smelling of another alpha.”

“Shiro’s docile, he won’t lash out.”

“Let’s take no chances.” He was firm, but then he smiled, and lifted a hand to pet Keith before he remembered his own instructions. “It’s good to see you.”

Keith likely looked uncharacteristic grinning from ear to ear but he couldn’t help it. He’d been worried and a weight he hadn’t known he’d shouldered had evaporated. “What happened? We were expecting you last week.”

“We weren’t the only people fleeing Voltron. By the time we had everything in order it had broken out into a full blown battle in the streets. Families who were not running had taken up arms against the Coalition that moved, by all appearances, against the monarchy. It was nothing short of chaos between the looting, the free for all, and what law enforcers remained tried to control the situation by locking down borders.”

“How’d you get out?”

Kolivan told him, gesturing between signs, and Keith marveled at the incredible story of finding alternate routes via subterranean tunnels that he theorized had existed from the previous civilizations on the days of their fall where they waited before remerging to the surface. There were several such bunkers and tunnels scattered across the world, but it was news to Keith that one such labyrinth had made up Voltron’s bedrock.

Kolivan was just talking about the minor injuries an uncle received during a run in with bandits when they both froze at the contrail scent of alpha and omega.

Shiro and Lance were making their way down the corridor. Lance, hand in Shiro’s, brightened when he recognized Kolivan but stilled the moment he put the pieces together. His attempt to lure his alpha away came too late, because Shiro set his eyes on Kolivan and marched directly towards him.

Kolivan flinched but didn’t run away. Outside of the fact that his instincts wouldn’t let him show weakness to another posturing alpha, he didn’t want to trigger Shiro’s impulse to chase anything that moved.

Everyone was shock still when Shiro halted one foot away. He didn’t lift his eyes from Kolivan once, and he didn’t for the moment more he turned something over in his head. Three decisive sniffs later Shiro latched his hand on Kolivan’s nape.

Kolivan forced himself not to tense up and leaned forward. Perhaps the worst he’d suffer was the humiliation of being drenched in the scent of a horny—

Shiro kissed him, a brief kiss with a single deep stroke of his tongue, and abruptly turned into the room, a wide-eyed Lance in tow.

Kolivan blinked.

Keith covered his mouth with his hands, whether out of shock or to disguise laughter Kolivan couldn’t immediately tell. Eventually he dropped them to say in quick tight motions, “Kolivan I am _so_ sorry.”

“It’s…fine,” Kolivan straightened, mind blank and inhibiting his tactfulness. His skin felt warm and tremulous, but he couldn’t place the emotion behind it. “It was flattering, considering what another alpha might have done in his stead.”

Keith let himself laugh then.

“I’d best go in case he decides to change his mind.”

“Wait!” and Lance appeared and wrapped his arms around him.

Kolivan put his hands on Lance’s shoulders, imbibing in his scent and reflexively smiling from its sweet familiarity. “Hello little prince,” he purred. He flinched when Shiro reappeared in the doorway.

“What happened? Are you alright? Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes. Keith will tell you. I should go.” He gently pried Lance loose. “I offer my congrats, kit. Remember you have us to go through the near future. I must go.”

And with a final hesitant glance at Shiro, he beat a hasty retreat.

Keith stifled a chuckle. “I’ve never seen Kolivan look that shocked my entire life.”

“What did he mean?”

Keith sobered at Lance’s haunted expression. “What’s wrong?”

“He congratulated me. Us.” Lance looked skeptical and then pressed a hand to his belly.

Keith’s eyes widened in shock.

Shiro nuzzled the back of Lance’s neck and nibbled on his nape delicately.

-

Three weeks later Narti, Ezor and Zethrid opened their home to Lance and his family. Every wall was tiled and every room had a theme and every window was awash with light and every lantern was lit.

Narti’s sisters wove through the crowd hunting friends and spouses (poor Regris was being juggled by three) and Zethrid’s brothers and aunts laughed raucously and demanded every visitor gets two servings. Ezor’s fathers, serpentine and seedy, were very warm and very tactile. At any given moment they had a Marmora pressed to their breast.

There were visitors to make connections with too. Ezor had relayed to her friends Lance’s debacle in the marketplace, and a minister who had been challenging the traditional leaders eager to preserve their jungles arrived to make the acquaintance of the infamous informant who could get things done.

“I understand that in light of the late King Alfor’s brutal taxation that took a heavy emotional toll on Narquodian peoples, the leaders that be would not be interested in starting a project that could end up going against the faith of the majority of our people. At the same time…”

“At the same time, it’s Narquodian culture and heritage that they’re turning a blind eye to.”

“Exactly!”

Lance sipped his juice and nodded. “There is a sustainable method of archeology however. The Balmera have been putting it in practice long before they were absorbed into the Empire. I remember a short conversation with Ambassador Rax he mentioned that preserving the environment was a key part of their mining operations.”

Her eyes glinted, “You are a marvel, de Leone. Is it possible you can put me in touch?”

“I would love to. And please: call me Lanceria.”

“Luxia.”

They shook hands. She was a handsome woman, tall and slender and powerful, in a way she reminded Lance of his imposing mothers. She seemed interested in him beyond a professional capacity and he was flattered and eager to make friends, but at the same time a couple in the corner caught his eye and he found himself intrigued.

“Excuse me, please. I need to exchange a few words with my husband.”

She smiled. “Until later, Lanceria.”

“Feel free to call on me anytime.”

“Likewise.”

Keith dodged through the crowd with an eloquence and maturity that vanished the minute he reached Keith’s elbow and gossiped, “Zethrid’s making moves on your sister!”

“What? _What?”_

And he pointed and yes! Zethrid was posturing, smiling, her eyes dropping to the low cut of Acxa’s shirt repeatedly. Acxa on the other hand was leaning against the wall and pretending to be amused, but she was intentionally making herself smaller, encouraging Zethrid’s attentions.

“Lord,” Keith quarreled. “First Regris then Kolivan and now this.”

Lance’s head swiveled wildly. “Kolivan’s getting besieged too? Where is he? Where is he?”

He jerked his chin. “And you’ll never guess by who.”

Lance snorted. Kolivan was laughing, full belly face split _laughing._ It didn’t come as a surprise that he was in the company of their alpha.

The first few days of Shiro’s lucidity following a euphoric rut had been spent avoiding Kolivan. He’d been properly embarrassed. Kolivan eventually intercepted him and reassured him that he didn’t take offense, that he was genuinely flattered, and every so often since they’d find a corner and sit down and chat. If posed the question they’d both claim it was friendly, but even outside Lance’s rose-tinted romantic-framed lenses he was sure that Kolivan’s smiles were wider around Shiro, and Shiro’s eyes lingered when Kolivan was turned.

He quarreled, “It wasn’t enough that I had to ward Regris off you? Now I have to ward off Kolivan from Shiro too?”

“You couldn’t ward off Kolivan if you tried.”

It was true, Keith had too much respect for the man.

It occurred to Lance to ask if Keith felt threatened or intimidated or jealous, but at the same time it seemed so foolish to ask. Shiro looked so happy. Keith could never be upset with Shiro’s happiness.

At the same time Keith volunteered, “It’s a relief. Y’know? Shiro seemed…out of place for all we’ve been welcoming.”

“I know what you mean.” Lance was distracted by a couple disappearing onto the patio leading into the garden. “Hey, wanna sneak off?”

“Don’t you have more politicking to do?”

“My brain’s useless right now. All it wants is to keep a cock warm.”

Keith shot him a sharp look but it wasn’t chastisement. Lance bat his eyelashes in a final attempt but it wasn’t necessary. Keith—and Shiro too for that matter—found it a trial to keep their hands off Lance when it was confirmed he was pregnant. At first it was in celebration but then consolation. Lance began panicking he might lose the baby like his sisters. Regular check-ups, long talks with mothers, and longer sessions of letting him win at othello soothed the worst of his fears.

In its place came a frisky omega who oozed more sexual charisma than usual.

Keith sighed melodramatically and Lance latched onto his arm. Keith murmured in his ear, “Would any cock for my lovely little harlot prince do?”

Lance’s eyes and lips took on a delicious colour. His skin bloomed with arousal. His hands were coy: “My throat’s only in the right shape for yours.”

Keith felt a full body shiver go through him. _“Ancients, Lance.”_

He twittered. They both caught Shiro’s eye as they crossed the party and Shiro tilted his head in inquiry before he straightened and his complexion betrayed him. He tripped into a deeper flush at whatever Kolivan, smiling cattily, whispered.

Shiro caught up with them behind the rose bushes between a wall of the manor and low wall surrounding the property. Lance was already on his knees, mouth full of Keith’s lap, and Keith already keening and cursing.

Lance’s hand was hot from toggling Keith’s thighs, and that was the hand he snaked up Shiro’s skirt without so much as a heartbeat of hesitation. Shiro grunted. His cock felt like wildfire and static. Keith moaned, and Shiro kissed him. As they kissed, Shiro yanked on Lance’s head.

Keith’s moaning escalated despite Shiro’s attempts to swallow them down, and the gross wet _schlop scholp_ of Lance’s vigor rivaled the distant din of the party. Keith’s voice began to hitch. Shiro popped Lance off Keith’s cock to drop him on his own.

Keith groaned. He collapsed against the wall heavily. The coarse bricks cut through the thin veil of his shirt. He whimpered, “You are a _bitch.”_

Shiro laughed but was decently preoccupied. Lance suckled on him with a duality of innocence and depravity that made him weak. It was hard and it took too long but when his legs threatened to give out he handed him back to Keith, who needed to be worked back up to the point he was before.

Lance enjoyed being thrown between them like a thing. He was utterly pliable, and though he didn’t smell like he was on heat he was disassociating as easily as though he were. Shiro felt a surge of pride and possession. He was allowed to see Lance out of his mind. He was allowed to instigate it! And with a quick glance around to make sure he was in the clear he thought that he wouldn’t take it lightly.

Cold air exchange for a hot mouth distracted him. He yelped.

Keith grinned, “Alright, Shiro?”

“One.”

“You look good. Is that Kolivan’s shirt?”

Shiro darkened and his eyes flashed with fear even as he rocked into Lance’s face.

“Just an observation. You two are close.”

Shiro didn’t meet his eyes. “I put on more weight recently and—”

Lance hummed appreciatively, distracting Shiro from his self-deprecation.

“It looks good on you,” Keith panted. “I’m glad you’re making _friends.”_

Shiro bit his mouth. Keith was playful, teasing, but at the same time he felt the need to say, “I won’t cheat on you.”

Lance slowed, frowning.

“I may look and appreciate but I won’t commit adultery. I promise.”

Lance eased Shiro’s erection free. His voice was in tatters and broke. “We never accused you of that.”

“It’s fine if you want to pursue other relationships,” Keith added.

Shiro frowned, breathing hard, cheeks red but arousal ebbing. His eyes flashed between them. “I’m missing something,” he mumbled.

Keith and Lance’s eyes met and _ah_ it clicked. They had been talking in a context Shiro was not privy too. He didn’t know what they _felt._ He didn’t know that Keith and Lance both felt affectionate and sympathetic and relief each time Shiro and Kolivan got caught in one another’s orbit. They’d both forgotten that they had to use more words where Shiro was concerned.

Lance jumped up from his stoop and kissed Shiro. Pressed flat against him as he was, Shiro felt the subtle firmness of Lance’s belly. Being reminded of it set him at ease like magic. He settled.

“We don’t mind,” he whispered. “We don’t. And I’m sorry this conversation didn’t happen sooner. Have you been holding back because of us?”

“No." He didn’t volunteer more.

It was Keith’s turn to touch and reassure. “Whoever you’re interested in, whoever you like, we’ll respect that. We know where we stand,” and he grinned savagely, “we know that’ll you’ll always come back to _us.”_

The side of Shiro’s mouth quirked. “That’s true.”

Lance and Keith might as well have melted at his easy admission.

“I can be faithful to only you. It’s no hardship.”

“But is that what you want?”

“I’m…not sure.” A lot things were still missing from his head. He wasn’t the same man he was two months ago, but he wasn’t wholly himself yet either. “Can I ask—”

“Anything.”

“Of course.”

He smiled at them and their eager faces. “Why are we not Bonded?”

Lance turned to Keith, “Why aren’t we?”

“Because it is an unchangeable step forward. A truth laid bare. It is a means of giving someone else power over your power for the rest of time, rewiring your basic impulses to—”

“Calm down, edgelord.”

Keith, taken off guard, broke into a juvenile grin that graced all his lopsided fangs.

Lance offered, “It’s something that you have to want. At the same time we don’t need it.”

“Bold words coming from someone who pressured me into it.”

Lance ignored Keith. “I’d argue we’re already bonded. My brain shuts down when you’re in the room and Keith stops signing whenever he catches wind of your scent.”

Shiro grinned, “Really?”

Keith groused, “Stop looking so proud about that.”

“Do you want to Bond?”

Shiro didn’t think before nodding.

Keith intercepted, “But is it—and don’t get mad at me, it’s a serious question—is it because you want to or is it because you feel the need to take responsibility for Takashi Junior?”

“Keith!”

“It’s a callous question but—”

“Not that! We agreed to name her—”

“Why do you think our baby’s a _her?”_

There was a space in their banter for Shiro to say “I think” and when he did they fell silent. He said, “I think Keith has a point. But I want to be yours. More than anything.” Lance looked enamored but Keith looked skeptical. “Keith?”

“I don’t want to do a full exchange.”

Lance made a disappointed and annoyed sound.

“I know you’re going to rag me for being afraid of commitment, but it’s more than that. I want you to choose us, Shiro.”

“I do. I have.” And he pulled the collar of his borrowed shirt aside, baring his untouched gland. “You can feel me for yourself.”

“No.”

Lance was frowning outright now. He looked ready to fight.

Keith put a placating hand on Lance’s shoulder: “Mark _us._ Make us _yours._ Feel us, for however long you want to, until the effects of the one-sided bite fade if you want. I want to be sure that when you decide to keep us, choose us, it’s a fully informed decision, not because of the trappings of society or duty or your child. I’ll say it another way,” he cut when a look of outrage crossed his face, “you have a duty and right to your child. That’s a given. No one will argue with you about that. But our child will _not_ be an excuse to bond with us. Does that make sense?”

Shiro slowly nodded. Keith, firm and cruel as he might have sounded, was keeping their best interests at heart. He wanted to move forward. Shiro didn’t doubt that Keith wanted _him_ too. But he also wanted a safe place for all of them to love, and a safe place for their child to grow.

Understanding dawned in Lance’s expression too, and his eyes glittered with respect. Eventually he turned to Shiro in question.

“That makes sense. I agree. Lance?”

“Yes. Here.”

“Here! But…” Shiro held Lance’s thin wrist. The subtle bump of his tiny gland glowed from a distant lantern. He swallowed, shocked and trusted. A bite too deep or too hard could be catastrophic, but Lance hadn’t even doubted. His cool eyes were steady.

Keith produced his hand too. “When you’re ready, alpha.”

Shiro took both their wrists in turn, kissed their wrists in turn. When he sunk his teeth in and blood ran, it wasn’t pain he saw on their faces, it was euphoria.

Three minutes later he felt it for himself.

-

End.


End file.
